Rabbit, My Claws are Down
by MetaCandescence
Summary: Blake Matthews has only ever needed two things, her companion Wess and something to hunt. When the Winchesters stumble upon her while on a hunt, to what lengths will they go to save her from herself? How long can she run from them? Dean/OC Friend!Sam/OC
1. The Rabbit

Hello all, let me introduce you to _Rabbit, My Claws are Down._ This little fic here has been my baby for the last month or so, and just so happens to be my premier fic here at this site. The title is inspired, and is actually a lyric, from a song called, "_I Know I'm a Wolf,_" by Young Heretics and is a beautiful, beautiful song. The song goes very well with the whole fic and I hope you'll give it a listen.

Just to set one little thing straight here, I will **_never_** blackmail you into reviewing by withholding chapters. But I can assure you, the more you review, the more I will feel the need to update. It will and does definitely make a difference because I do want to make you guys happy and if I know that updating makes you happy, you can be sure it will happen more often. On the other side, if I feel like no one cares whether or not I update, which is understandable don't get me wrong, but I won't feel the need to write as often.

I know I might sound a little stern in the above paragraph, but I'm actually really friendly, so please don't be afraid to review. I already love you if you've read the whole thing, reviewing just makes me love you more.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any recognizable trademarks. The only thing I own are my OCs, Blake and Wesson.

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><p>Blake Matthews is a Hunter. She was born and raised on the hunt, and she's certain she'll die on the hunt. It's just the way it goes. Nobody ever gets out of hunting and Blake isn't an exception. She wouldn't dream of it anyway. Hunting is her way of life, and she wouldn't know what to do with herself without it. There would be no more purpose in life. It may be an unhealthy mindset for someone only 24 years old, but the mindset of the hunter is a thing of wonder.<p>

Blake is a little taller than most girls, being around 5'6-5'7, and she's got much more strength and stamina than even your average male. She has gray-blue eyes and chocolate brown hair that is exceptionally long, trailing almost to her elbows. Her hair is almost always pulled into a high pony though, so that it doesn't get in her way.

At this moment in time, Blake is tailing a werewolf. She had followed it back to an abandoned house on the outskirts of town. It was almost sad, really. The poor thing was a frightened homeless woman outside of the full moon.

Blake is going to try to talk to her, explain what was going on, and then hopefully, the woman will understand what had to be done. If not, Blake's going to wait until she changes again and shoot her then. It's a heart breaking thing to do, even to Blake, who's been working this job since she could walk. Her job is, and always has been, protecting innocents. This woman's only crime is being bitten by a werewolf, and in Blake's mind, that makes her still completely innocent.

Blake watches the house for any sign of movement, almost casual in her observations, as if spying on a woman who could burst into a werewolf at any moment is normal. It is for Blake, anyhow. She reaches over and lazily scratches her working class German shepherd, Wess, short for Wesson, behind the ears as he lounges in the front seat of her car. He's her hunting dog, capable of tracking any supernatural being; she trained him using the same method as the police use for drug detecting dogs. The only difference is instead of using heroin or pot, she used things like vampire fangs and shapeshifter skin. He was really useful when it came to sniffing them out, and he could hold his own in a fight too.

Honestly, she wasn't sure why other hunters hadn't started doing the same thing. Especially for the ones who hunted solo, it paid to have him around because of his amazing sense of hearing and smell. Blake didn't like to admit it, but he kept her from being too lonely too.

Blake glances at the clock on her dashboard and sighs, it was about two hours before the moon would come out, 'Looks like it's show time,' she thinks, stretching and stepping out of her car. It's going to be nighttime soon, and if she wants to talk to the woman before she changes again, she has to get a move on it.

Blake gives a sharp, short whistle and Wess bounds over the console dividing the passenger and driver's seat and sits at her feet, ears perked for a command. She smiles and strokes his head lovingly, "Let's go." Wess's fluffy tail wags uncontrollably as he and Blake cross the distance to the little abandoned house.

Blake opens the door of the house slowly, "Hello? Is anyone here?" She calls loudly, hoping to lure any occupants out.

A chillingly animalistic scream echoes through the small house and Blake's body tenses as she draws her gun, knowing that the woman's transformation started, "Wess, go to the car!" Blake snaps, not bothering to look if he obeyed or not.

Blake silently creeps through the house, waiting for the werewolf to make its appearance. She slowly crosses the living room and enters what used to be a kitchen, complete with a busted table and chairs.

The floorboards behind her give a loud ominous creak and Blake whirls around just in time to get slashed across her stomach with a clawed hand, sending her flying into the wall on the opposite side of the room. She recovers in time to squeeze off one silver round into the werewolf's chest, and it slumps over, dead.

Blake sighs loudly and clambers to her feet, sadly staring at the body of the woman. The woman was a lot younger than Blake originally thought, seeming to be around 19 or 20. She was definitely homeless.

Blake leans down to turn the woman onto her back but stops when a shooting pain comes from her stomach. It's from when the werewolf sneaked up on her earlier. She moans lowly in pain and lifts her shirt, revealing three ragged lacerations trailing across her stomach, bleeding heavily. They'll have to be stitched. Blake's shoulders droop as she dreads having to stitch it later, but all she can do now is tear her ruined undershirt into a bandage and hope she doesn't bleed too much before she can finish her task.

When she arrives at her car, she finds Wess sitting obediently next to it. "Good boy, Wesson," she coos, painfully kneeling to pet him. When he doesn't immediately melt into a puddle of happiness, and only continues to give her this sad, doe-eyed look, she sighs. "Yeah… I'll be okay, Wess. This one was a sad one, wasn't it?" Wess's tail thumps the ground as he wags it and gives a single pleased bark. Blake smiles, "You were such a good boy though! Weren't you, Wesson? Huh?" She asks in a cutesy voice only reserved for him. This time Wess shows none of the earlier restraint as he bounds around Blake in a large circle.

Blake laughs and retrieves a colorful knotted rope from her glove box and throws it as far as she can, Wess takes off after it like a shot. She smiles before remembering what she had to do, and her smile is soon replaced by a pensive frown. She walks around to the back of her car and pops the trunk, grabbing her shovel and heading back to the house to bury the poor woman.

* * *

><p>Blake winces and painfully climbs her way out of the deep grave she dug, wobbling slightly as she heads into the house to retrieve the body. It's hard, and Blake nearly falls unconscious several times, but the woman is finally buried and it's time for Blake to leave. She still has to drive back to her motel and stitch herself up. The tasks seem impossible to Blake at the moment as all she wants to do is fall asleep and never get up. The blood loss has really started to affect her, and she isn't sure how much longer she's going to last.<p>

Blake sits down on a battered chair in the wrecked kitchen, taking deep breaths and trying to rest. It's only been a few minutes before Blake is jerked out of her peaceful state when Wess leaps to his feet and growls, barking frantically in the direction of the door.

Blake narrows her eyes and silences Wess with a gesture, rising from her chair, gun drawn and cocked. She silently takes the alternate route out of the kitchen and circles back around to get to the living room, ending up behind her two intruders. They happen to be two normal looking guys. She relaxes a little and holsters her gun.

"What are you two doing here?" She asks, trying to look as harmless as possible. Hopefully they wouldn't notice all of the blood and call the cops on her.

They turn around slowly, the tall one frowns and begins stumbling over an excuse, "I—We, you see… Well…"

The shorter guy scowls and elbows him, "She's a werewolf, Sam! There's no need to explain, we just have to wait until she wolfs out and shoot her."

"Dean!" The taller one, Sam, says sounding irritated and scowling back at 'Dean.' "We were going to talk to her, not condemn her!"

Blake raises an eyebrow at their bickering, "Werewolf? You guys think… I'm a werewolf?" She asks, her voice flat and toneless in annoyance. Of course something like this would happen to her.

"I—well, yes. We do. Um, have you been acting weird lately? Going to sleep and waking up in a weird place… or with things you hadn't had before? You know… anything like that?" Sam asks, stumbling over his words slightly.

Blake shakes her head, "I can't believe this," she moans.

Sam winces sympathetically, "I know… It's a lot to take in, but… you're hurting people, killing them."

Blake barks a short laugh, "No. Not that, I can't believe I look awful enough to be mistaken for homeless," she retorts, trying to brush away some of the dirt on her pants.

"This isn't a time for jokes, sweetheart. You got a serious case of the rabies." Dean says, watching her suspiciously, as if she was going to freak out and attack them. Oh, wait, they thought she was a werewolf, of course he thought she was going to freak out on him.

"I'm not a werewolf. I just killed one though, you boys are a little late to the party," Blake tells him, resisting the urge to scoff.

"Wait, so you're saying that…"

"I'm a hunter?" Blake finishes the sentence for Sam, smiling haughtily, "Sure am. You can check out back, I just got finished burying it."

Sam and Dean exchange weary glances, "I'll go check, keep watch on her," Dean says, glaring at Blake and heading out the back door.

Blake sighs, her adrenaline wearing off as she steadies herself on the door frame with a shaking hand. Sam notices and frowns, "Hey, are you alright? You don't look so good."

Blake scowls, "Yeah, I will be. Werewolf caught me off guard and got me pretty good."

Sam shifts uneasily, "You… didn't get bitten, did you?" He asks, hesitantly.

"No. If I had, I'd already have put a bullet through my brain," Blake says, though she doubts he's comforted any. "It's just a scratch…. Here, do you have a silver knife?" She asks.

Sam gives her an odd look, "Don't you have one?"

Blake nods, "Yes, but you're still going to be suspicious of me unless I use one you know for sure is silver, aren't you?"

Sam smiles guiltily, "Good point," he says offering her a knife.

Instead of taking the knife from him, Blake sticks her arm out and gives him an expectant look.

Sam arches an eyebrow at her, "You… want me to do it?" He asks skeptically.

"Yep, do what you have to," Blake replies, still holding her arm out to him.

Sam frowns and wraps a large hand around her relatively smaller wrist, using the gleaming silver blade to make a small shallow cut on her arm. Blood bubbles to the surface of the wound and begins to trail lazily down her wrist.

"See? The scratch isn't sizzling and I'm not howling in pain. I told you the werewolf didn't bite me," says Blake, using her best 'know it all,' voice.

Sam shrugs with a sheepish chuckle, "Sorry, but I feel a lot better now I can be certain."

Blake laughs, "I guess it pays to be safe, which is why I'm going to run a couple tests of my own." She pauses to give a shrill whistle and Wess trots up next to her, curiously staring at her. "Search, Wess," she instructs, pointing at Sam. Wess approaches Sam and presses his nose to Sam's pants leg, inhaling deeply. Wess circles Sam several times, extensively checking over the numerous scents on Sam. Finally satisfied with what he's found, Wess pads back to Blake.

"Good boy, Wess!" Blake coos, bending to lavish attention upon Wess.

Sam coughs awkwardly, "So, uh, am I alright?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. You're clean. If he smelled anything on you he would've let me know," Blake replied, scratching Wess behind the ears.

"That's impressive, did you train him yourself?" Sam asks.

Blake grins, happy to talk about Wess to someone who actually seems interested. "Yes, I got him when he was little and we started training right away. He's been going on hunts with me ever since."

"How long have you had him?"

"Hmm… I'd say about six years, probably more," Blake replies, sluggishly crossing the room to grab a chair from the kitchen and plopping unceremoniously into it. She smiles, unable to bite back the sigh of relief from the relieved pressure on her abdomen.

Sam shifts from side to side uneasily, "Hey, are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, I think so… I'm not feelin' too hot right now though." She admits.

"You did say you got hurt, didn't you? D'you want me to take a look?" Sam asks, shifting his weight awkwardly.

Blake looks away uncomfortably, not quite sure what to make of his concern. It's been a long time since someone was concerned for her other than Wess, and it's not like Wess could really say or do anything about it. "Uh, sure, but I already know it's going to need stitches…"

Sam frowns, "I thought you said it was a scratch earlier, scratches don't require stitches…"

Blake shrugs and shucks her button down shirt, leaving her in her bra and makeshift bandages made of her ruined undershirt. She carefully begins to unwrap the torn strips of the shirt, wincing as it tugs at the ragged flesh beneath. Finally all she has left is a pile of ruined cloth and oozing wounds.

"That's definitely more than a scratch, and you're right… It will have to be stitched," Sam observes.

Blake gives a frustrated huff, "I hate stitching myself up," she nearly whines, standing to go get her first aid kit from her car.

Sam's eyes widen and he guides her back to the chair, "Hey, you shouldn't be moving, wait here, I'm going to go get the first aid kit from the Impala," he says, walking out the door just as Dean returns from the backyard, looking much more annoyed than before and a good deal dirtier.

Dean cocks an eyebrow at his retreating form, "Where's he goin'? And sheezus, what happened to you?"

"He said he was going to get the first aid kit from the Impala," Blake replies, her head almost beginning to dip in exhaustion.

"So that answers the first question. What about you, the werewolf get'cha?" Dean asks.

Blake nods, "It sneaked up on me."

Dean narrows his eyes at her suspiciously, reaching for his handgun, "Did it bite you?"

Blake groans, "Me an' Sam have already been through this," she complains, waving at Wess who had started growling when Dean reached for his gun.

Dean chuckles slightly at her frustrated reply, "Okay, sorry, princess."

Blake glares weakly at him, "I'm not a princess."

Dean laughs, "Sorry, sorry."

"'Where's Sam?" Blake asks, gently prodding the ragged flesh on her abdomen as her eyes droop.

Dean scowls and lightly bats her hands away from her wounds, "Don't do that, you're gonna make it worse. I don't know where Sam is, you said he was just running to the Impala."

Blake nods, her eyes closing as she tries to find a comfortable position on the chair.

"Hey, hey, don't fall asleep. We still need to get you cleaned up," Dean scolds, gently shaking her knee.

Blake grabs Dean's arm and uses it to haul herself to her feet, "We can't do it 'ere. Need to… go to my room."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, I don't think you're going anywhere, sweetheart. You can barely stand, even with your claws digging into my arm." Dean points out, gesturing to her nails digging into his arm.

Blake let's his arm go, but without him anchoring her, she begins to sway slightly. Dean nearly rolls his eyes at her stubbornness as sweeps her off her feet, one arm nestled in the crease of her knees and the other supporting her shoulders.

"I can walk…" Blake protests weakly, pushing on Dean's chest in a feeble attempt to make him put her down.

Dean snorts in amusement, "Sure, and I can fly," he sarcastically retorts.

Blake's head rolls on her shoulders, thumping against Dean's chest. "S'okay, Wess," she says in reply to Wess's angry barking, and it's the last thing she says before she closes her eyes and lets the blood loss entice her into momentary unconsciousness.

The next time she opens her eyes, she's still in Dean's arms. Apparently the gentle motion of him walking was enough to rouse her. She feels a dull pang of guilt as she stares at his shirt, it's bloody everywhere it touched her, probably ruined. Her eyes slowly trail over the surrounding area, recognizing it as the outside of the abandoned house. She spots Sam digging through the trunk of a classic car, it must be the Impala, but it doesn't seem to be where Dean's taking her.

Blake blinks, "Where're we… going?" She asks with some difficulty, as her tongue won't quit sticking to the roof of her mouth.

Dean looks down at her, probably just now realizing she was conscious again. "Our motel room."

Blake's face twists in unguarded, bleary confusion, "Why… go there?"

"Because you need help, and Sam and I aren't going to leave you here," Dean replies bluntly.

"Okay," Blake mumbles, closing her eyes.

"Is that your car?" Dean asks, nodding the black Pontiac Grand Am.

Blake pries her eyes open and nods, "Yes."

"I'm going to set you in the passenger's seat and Sam's going to drive you to our motel to get you fixed up, okay?" Dean asks.

Blake furrows her eyebrows, "Wess?"

"The dog? He's right behind us, he'll go with you and Sam." Dean reassures her.

Blake nods in satisfaction, "Okay."

"Sam's got the bandages, we're gonna wrap you up real quick before we go," Dean says, just as she hears the crunching of what must be Sam's footsteps. "That means I'm going to put you down, do you think you'll be okay?"

Blake nods, "I'll be fine."

Dean crouches and sets her feet on the ground, letting her test her weight on them, when he's satisfied she's stable, he lets her go and takes a step back, carefully observing her. True to her word, Blake hardly even wobbles. Wess comes up next to her and stands close to her legs, letting her lean against him.

Sam kneels in front of her, "I'm going to need you to lift your arms for me, okay?"

Blake nods and lifts her arms above her head. "Where's… my shirt?" She asks, shivering at the lack of Dean's body heat and the combination of shirtless indecency and the chilly midnight air.

"It must be inside still," Sam answers, unrolling the bandages.

"Wess, where's my shirt, boy?" Blake asks, trying to coo at him in her bleary state.

Wess barks and bounds back into the house.

Dean arches an eyebrow, "Did… he really just leave to go get your shirt?"

Blake smiles, "I 'ope."

Dean almost laughs, grinning widely, "Man, that's cool!"

Wess soon comes trotting back, Blake's button down shirt in his mouth. Blake smiles and takes the shirt from him. "Good boy, Wess."

Dean actually laughs this time, "Your dog is awesome."

Sam smiles at Dean's amusement, "Yeah, you should've seen him go all drug detector dog on me earlier," he says, beginning to roll the bandages tightly around Blake's midsection.

"What? He can do that?" Dean asks.

Blake nods, her arms held above her head once again, "Yep, jus' watch… Wess, search," she commands, lazily pointing at Dean.

Wess immediately begins to circle Dean, pressing his nose to Dean's pants legs every once and a while. Finally convinced that there's nothing on Dean, Wess pads back over to stand next to Blake.

"You're clean," Blake informs him, closing her eyes and trying to relax.

"How do you know?" Dean asks.

"If there was something on you that Wess wanted me to know about… he would've showed me," Blake says, yawning and swaying gently.

"How would he do that?"

"He'd lie at my feet," Blake replies as Dean puts a hand on her shoulder to steady her.

"So was he actually looking for drugs, or what?" Dean asks.

"Naw, he's makin' sure you weren't anything shifty, like a vampire or a demon," Blake said, stifling another yawn.

"That's even better!" Dean exclaims, grinning as he crouches to scratch Wess behind the ears.

"Okay, I'm finished," Sam says, straightening from his kneeling position.

"Thanks," Blake mumbles.

"Alright, I think we're ready to leave now," Sam says.

Blake fishes in her jean's pocket for her keys before handing them to Sam. Sam takes them and unlocks the driver's door, clicking the button on the control panel to unlock the passenger door for Blake to get in.

Once Blake opens the door, she gestures for Wess to get in, "In the back seat, Wess." She reminds him as he sits in the passenger's seat, his usual spot. He cocks his head to the side in confusion before climbing over the console to get into the back seat, not understanding why Blake was in his seat.

"I'm going to clean up here a bit before I meet you two at the motel," Dean says.

"Alright, see you then," Sam agrees, sticking the key in the ignition and bringing the car to life.

Dean nods in acknowledgement as he shuts Blake's door after she's situated correctly inside the vehicle.

Blake leans her head against the cool glass of the window and dozes lightly until she and Sam arrive at the motel. She's awakened as Sam shuts the engine off, finding herself in the parking lot of the 'Rose Garden Motel.' Though, it certainly doesn't look anything like a rose garden, she decides.

It's late, but she'd rather not take the chance of anyone seeing her in just her bra. She already had to put up with Sam and Dean seeing, she didn't need some random sleaze ball getting an eyeful. These thoughts in mind, she carefully pulls on the shredded and bloody button down.

Sam looks at her ruined shirt and frowns, "Here," he says, shrugging out of his jacket, "you can use this."

Blake smiles tiredly, "Thanks," she says, taking the jacket from him and pulling it on. It's already warm and she can't help but notice it smells extremely nice, even though it basically swallows her. The bottom of the jacket goes to mid-thigh, and since it was made for people with shoulders much wider than hers, the sleeves are more than several inches too long. She just hopes she doesn't get any blood on it.

Blake climbs out of her car and Wess follows closely behind her. "Which one's yours?" She asks, using the car door to steady herself.

"It's over here," Sam replies, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to help her as he leads her into the motel room.

Once inside, Blake shrugs off Sam's jacket and tosses it onto one of the beds. Sam guides her to the bathroom, and she sits on the closed lid of the toilet, relaxing so much that she lets her head loll backwards.

She's only vaguely aware of when Sam starts flushing her wounds out with water, and soon after begins to pull the skin taut with stitches. She feels the pain of the needle piercing her flesh and tugging it together, but she's drifted so far that it's only a watered down version of the pain she should be feeling.

Blake closes her eyes and begins relinquishing the hold on her consciousness when she is shaken awake again by Sam, "Hey, I just wanted to make sure you were still with me. I finished your stitches, now I just need to wipe away the blood and… they'll probably scar."

Blake rubs her eyes and pries them open, taking a deep shaky breath when she realizes the bathroom door is closed. Fear starts to tickle her insides and cause her palms to itch, she scantly holds back the rough shudder, "O-Open the… door?" She asks in a slightly panicky voice, her chest beginning to squeeze off her air supply.

Sam gives her an odd look but doesn't question her as he opens the bathroom door as wide as the hinges allow. A cooling gust created by the motion swirls in and Blake sighs in obvious, palpable relief. "Thank you."

Sam nods, "Uh, no problem," he hesitantly replies.

Blake smiles weakly and sits up straighter, "It's, uh, it's okay about the scars… it's not like I expected any different… Hunters aren't usually… known for their flawless skin anyway. I'll just… count them among my collection," she says, shrugging off her freak out moments prior.

Sam notices her haste to drop the subject and doesn't push it as he gives her a sheepish smile. His eyes run over the numerous scars scattered across her skin. She wasn't kidding, she really did have quite a collection going. The ones on her stomach seem to be a little worse than the rest… but it's nothing that's not normal for her. The thought almost upsets Sam. He's seen men in their thirties and older hunt alone, he's seen Dean hunt alone… Why was she hunting alone and why did she have so many scars?

Sam decides to breach the topic with a seemingly harmless question, "How long have you been a hunter…?"

Blake shrugs with forced nonchalance, "Well… saying that it's all I've ever known isn't an… exaggeration. I… was raised as a hunter."

Sam's eyebrows knit together in confusion, "You… never wanted to get out, to… be normal?" He asks hesitantly, at least thankful that she seems more aware than she did before.

Blake quirks an eyebrow at him, "No, why would I? I love hunting. I live for it," she answers, becoming more and more articulate as she regains the advantages of being conscious.

Sam is nearly taken aback by the resolve he hears in her voice, and he can't help but prod a little bit more for answers. "You live for it? What do you mean by that?"

Blake averts her gaze, "I mean… without hunting, I would have nothing. No purpose." She admits.

Sam is once again taken aback. "What about Wess?" He asks, hoping he wasn't crossing any lines.

Blake smiles sadly, "Wess is why I don't take quite as many risks as I could. That werewolf hunt earlier was nothing… To be honest, he's the only reason I'm alive. So many times I've been on the edge of death, ready and willing to except it, when this little nagging voice in my ear asks, 'But who will take care of Wess?' and I'm sucked back down to Earth and I finish the hunt and drag myself back to where I left Wess. "

"He… he really means a lot to you, doesn't he?" Sam asks, shifting awkwardly.

Blake nods, "He's… like the only family I have left."

"Then… your parents?"

"Are dead, yes," Blake says, answering the question Sam left to the air. "I didn't have any siblings either."

"I'm so sorry… I don't remember her, but my mother died in my nursery when I was six months old," Sam says, glancing away uncomfortably, feeling less than satisfied after finding out why she hunted alone.

"My parents were killed by djinn… The alternate reality the djinn showed them was more appealing than the real world and they didn't wake up. Presumably they died happy," Blake nearly spits, her eyes betraying her disgust, but under her anger and her disgust is a festering wound riddled with old hurts and insecurities.

Sam nearly winces, overcome with a sudden thankfulness for his dad and Dean, at least he still had them. "I… I'm so sorry."

Blake glances away, seemingly ashamed at her earlier anger and struggles to smile, "I'm sorry to drop all of that on you all of a sudden. I… It's just nice to talk to someone who understands, you know?"

"No, it's fine… I understand. I, um, don't mind," Sam says, giving her a weak reassuring smile.

Blake sighs in relief, her guard coming back up and she's belatedly ashamed of all that she revealed to Sam while she was still a little loopy, "Good, because I really didn't mean to whine that much…"

Sam shook his head, "You didn't… um, this might hurt, but I'm going to clean the blood off of your stitches."

Blake nods and leans back to give Sam more access to her stitches as he begins to clean the skin surrounding them with a damp cloth.

"Okay," Sam says, standing, and beginning to rinse his hands in the sink, "they're clean."

"Whew, thanks. That was SO much easier than trying to do it myself, I hate stitches!" Blake complains, eying Sam's neat and orderly rows of stitches.

Sam gives her a halfhearted smile, feeling guilty for having Dean when she didn't have anyone. Being around her constantly reminds him of how lucky he is to have Dean. He looks away from her, changing the subject abruptly, "So what are you going to do now?"

She shrugs, "Go back to my hotel room and sleep for a year? That sounds about right."

Sam laughs, "You can stay here, if you want. I don't think you're in much of a condition to drive just yet if you feel like you can sleep for a year," he says, not wanting her to accidentally kill someone or herself if she were to fall asleep at the wheel.

"Nah, I'm okay. I'll grab some coffee and I'll be good." Blake says, trying to reassure him.

"Alright… if you're sure," Sam says, giving her a concerned look.

Blake laughs, "I am. Thank you so much for fixing me up… Oh, do you happen to have a shirt I could borrow before I go out there in just a bra?"

"Huh? Oh, sure, one sec," Sam says, digging around in his bag. "Ah, you're in luck, I kept the shirt that Dean accidentally shrank a couple days ago." He says, pulling a plain forest green shirt out of his suitcase.

Blake gives a small laugh of relief, "Thank you so much," she says, taking the shirt from him.

"Oh! I just realized I never got your name…" Sam mutters, trailing off at the end.

Blake laughs and pulls the shirt on. "My name is Blake Matthews," she says, presenting him her hand to shake.

"Blake, huh?" Sam asks rhetorically, "I'm Sam Winchester," he says, shaking her hand.

"It was really nice to meet you, Sam," Blake says as she walks to the door of the motel room. "C'mon Wess," she calls to the dozing canine. Wess clambers to his feet and trots after her, shaking himself awake along the way.

Blake pulls the door open to see Dean struggling to hold a large bag of food and three large drinks all while attempting to fish his keys out of his pocket.

"Nice timing! Here, take these," Dean says without giving her any indication of what to take.

Blake gives a small mental shrug and pulls two of the drinks out of his grasp, while Sam comes up next to her and takes the last drink and the bag of food. Blake sets the drink down on the small table the motel room offered as Sam does the same.

Dean plops into one of the chair and begins rooting through the bag of food, "I didn't know what to get you," he says, pulling out a plastic container of salad and setting it on the table, "so sorry if you don't like it."

"Oh… you didn't have to get me anything. But salad is fine, thanks," Blake says, surprised that he thought to get her food.

Dean snorts in amusement, "The salad is for Sammy, I got you a cheeseburger. Sam might share if you're the salad-type, though," he says, smiling mischievously.

Blake laughs in relief, "Thank goodness, I thought you had got me the salad because I'm a girl. A cheeseburger would be awesome right now."

Dean shrugs, "I just figured you were a hunter, and most hunters like their meat red. Sam here just happens to be an oddball with his vegetable-eating and what have you, huh, Sammy?" Dean asks, grinning as he tries to get a rise out of Sam.

Sam rolls his eyes, but can't hold back the smile on his face as he sarcastically retorts, "So how's that heart attack on a bun?"

Dean gives him a smug grin, "Delicious," and with that, he takes an overly large bite out of his double bacon cheeseburger.

Blake giggles quietly at the bickering boys, picking up the burger Dean had sat on the table for her and taking a seat on the bed.

Dean cocks an eyebrow at her, "What're you laughing at, Giggles?"

Blake shakes her head and smiles, taking a large bite of her burger for an excuse not to answer. Wess pads over and looks up at her imploringly his huge chocolaty eyes. "Quit begging, Wess," Blake mumbles, averting her eyes so as to not fall prey to his pleading. He casts her one last mopey look before slowly making his way back to where he was sleeping earlier, stopping every once in a while to look back at her over his shoulder as if to ask, 'You sure you don't want to share that cheeseburger with me?'

Once Wess lies back down, Blake sighs and rips off a part of her cheeseburger, crouching down in front of Wess and giving it to him, "Good boy."

Sam laughs and shakes his head, "But you just told him to quit begging."

Blake sighs again, "I know, but he listened and deserved a treat," she explains, sitting on the bed again.

Dean begins snickering, "That dog's got you wrapped around his little claw."

Blake frowns at Dean, but smirks a couple seconds later as an idea comes to her, "Wess, I think Dean wants to share with you."

Wess's ears perk up and he stares at Dean for a couple seconds, as if analyzing the chances of Dean actually giving up the goods. Wess seems to like his odds as he clambers to his feet and trots over to Dean, resting his chin on Dean's knee and looking up at him sadly.

"Aw man," Dean whines, torn between his love of his cheeseburger and Wess's pleading looks. He finally sighs and begins to tear a piece off of his burger.

"If you don't want him to think he can just beg food off of you all the time, make him do a couple tricks," Blake instructs.

"Like what?"

"He knows all of the basics, sit, lay down, roll over, play dead, yada yada, plus a few like sing, intimidate, and speak." Blake explains.

"Okay, so what do I do?" Dean asks.

"You have to make it a command, so sound firm, but not angry, and say his name so he knows you're talking to him."

"Okay… Wess, sing," Dean says, using a firm tone like Blake said.

Wess sits back on his haunches and howls loudly, causing Dean to laugh, obviously pleased with Wess's obedience, "Okay, so that's singing… What's intimidate do?" Dean asks cautiously.

"It makes him growl and bark… You have to give him someone to intimidate though, you can do that by pointing." Blake tells him, finding his curiosity amusing.

"Wess, intimidate," Dean commands, pointing at Blake.

Wess stares at him blankly, not even moving to acknowledge his command.

Blake laughs, "Sorry, but you'll have to find someone else. Wess wouldn't growl at me, even if he was faking."

Dean shrugs and points at Sam this time, "Wess, intimidate."

Immediately, Wess hunkers into an aggressive position, his lips pulling away from his teeth as he growls and barks ferociously at Sam, his fur standing on end.

Sam puts his hands up innocently, obviously a little freaked out, "He won't bite, will he?" He asks, taking a step away from Wess.

"No, he'd never bite unless I told him to…"Blake says, reassuring Sam. "That's enough, Wess, be gentle," she commands, and Wess's entire demeanor switches, just at her word. Now he's wagging his tail and nudging Sam's hand with his nose.

Sam is still in shock at Wess's complete change in mood as he hesitantly scratches him behind the ear. Wess wiggles and bounces around in excitement before bounding back to Dean, who owes him some cheeseburger.

Dean chuckles, "Alright, you earned it." He says, feeding the bite of cheeseburger to Wess.

Blake laughs, "And you just earned yourself a friend for life," she comments, seeing how Wess laid down next to Dean's chair.

"What can I say? Animals love me," Dean says, shrugging haughtily.

Blake blinks, suddenly feeling as if every ounce of energy she had was gone and each time she blinks, it becomes harder and harder to open her eyes again.

Sam notices her silent fight against exhaustion, "Are you alright, Blake?" He asks, watching her in concern.

"I'm fine. I just got really… tired all of a sudden," Blake says, rubbing her eyes.

"Maybe you should lie down," Sam suggests.

"Yeah, I think you're right…" Blake agrees, "It was really nice meeting the both of you, but I guess I better head out now," she says, standing up to make her way to the door.

"I meant lie down here, you don't have to leave… You're not in any condition to be driving," Sam says, giving her a disapproving look.

Blake frowns thoughtfully, "But where would I sleep?"

Dean chuckles and gives her a suggestive wink, "With me, of course."

Sam rolls his eyes and sighs, "Dean, we're supposed to be giving her reasons to stay, not to leave."

"Hey! It's every girl's dream to sleep with me," Dean defends.

Sam sighs again, shaking his head, "You take too much joy in the double meaning of that."

Dean smirks widely, choosing not to say anything.

Blake gives the two an exasperated look, "I'll just sleep on the ground if it's that much trouble… Or, even better, I'll go to my own motel room."

"No, it's okay, you can take my bed, I'll sleep on the ground," Sam says as he gathers the top blanket, the one only used for decoration, off of both of the motel beds, and takes a pillow from each.

"Sorry Sam, I would offer to share a bed with you, but I smell like hell warmed over… Diggin' graves and bleeding like a stuck pig seems to do that to people. I can't even take a bath 'cause of these stitches, either…" Blake grumbles, taking the blankets and pillows out of Sam's hands and folding them into a pallet on the ground. She tosses the pillows at the head of the pallet and digs through the closet for the extra bedding the maids keep in there, triumphantly pulling the medium sized plastic bag from the top shelf in the closet and unzipping it to find another pillow and blanket.

Blake takes the blankets and layers all three of them on the ground, making the makeshift bed of blankets nice and thick. Finally, she takes the top sheet off of the beds and tosses them on to the pallet, frowning as she realizes she doesn't have any pajamas to sleep in.

"Do either of you have any shorts or pajama bottoms I could borrow?" Blake asks.

Dean nods and rummages around in his duffel bag for a while before handing her a pair of red plaid boxers, "Here ya go."

Blake grins at him and heads to the bathroom to put them on, "Thank you!"

As soon as the bathroom door closes behind Blake, Dean grins, "Seeing her in my boxers will be thanks enough, eh, Sammy?" He asks, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows at Sam.

Sam laughs in disbelief, "I just hope those were clean," he sarcastically retorts.

Dean shrugs in innocence, still grinning goofily. He glances at the bathroom door to find it cracked the tiniest bit from not being closed all the way. He can't see anything going on in the bathroom, but it's enough to make him quirk an eyebrow. Did she accidentally not shut it all the way? Or did she really trust the two random hunters enough to not shut the door? Either way, it was weird. If Sam notices the door's open, he doesn't show it.

Blake exits the bathroom a couple seconds later, the boxer shorts hanging low on her hips, meaning that the hem went far past mid-thigh and Dean didn't get anything near the eyeful he had hoped for. What he did see were scars, tons of them. Obviously as a hunter you're expected to pick up a bunch of scars, but even Dean didn't have nearly as many scars as Blake did. Now that he's thinking about it, she had a lot of scars on her upper body too. Dean frowns, his eyes flickering over to Sam to see if Sam was thinking the same thing as he was. Something wasn't adding up.

"G'night guys, thanks for letting me stay here… and borrow all your clothes," Blake says, stifling a yawn as she crawls onto the pallet she made earlier.

"Whoa, whoa, wait. I thought I was sleeping on the floor?" Sam asks, obviously confused.

"Nope," Blake blithely replies, popping the 'p,' sound.

Sam laughs under his breath, "You know I'm just going to move you once you fall asleep, right?"

Blake shrugs, "You can try, but I AM a hunter. I'm not going to sleep through that."

Dean decides to join the argument at this point, "Aw, c'mon, how hard can it be really? I used to move Sam all the time from the Impala to the motel room, course, this was when he was, ya know, _normal_-sized, but still, it's gotta count for something. Besides, I don't wanna step on you during a midnight pee run."

Blake smiles smugly, "I guess we'll just see what happens after I go to sleep… But really, I wouldn't advise picking me up. I wasn't kidding when I said I smelled like hell warmed over earlier."

Dean snorts, "It's cute you think that'll deter us. We're hunters too, sweetheart. You probably smell like heaven compared to some of the things we've come across."

Blake laughs, "This is true, but for now, I'm sleeping down here. Goodnight."

"Night," Sam and Dean reply in unison.

Blake closes her eyes, and the moment she does, all of her energy reserves run dry and she's fast asleep within seconds.


	2. Misunderstanding

Hello all and welcome to the second chapter! I hope you enjoyed the last one and I hope you also enjoy this one. I only updated so fast because I already had this chapter written, and at the moment I'm roughly a quarter of the way through the third chapter... so that one may also be up soon. Please leave a review and tell me your thoughts, it will be dearly appreciated~ Also, are Sam and Dean in character? I did my best, but I feel it's a little shady sometimes...

* * *

><p>The next morning Blake finds herself in one of the beds, just like the boys had promised her she would. She must've been much more tired than she thought. She sits up slowly and stretches, trying not to pull her stitches too much.<p>

Dean looks at her and smirks with smug satisfaction, "Sleep enough, princess?" He asks, probably happy over the fact that he was right about being able to move her to the bed after she fell asleep.

Blake laughs, "Why yes, I did."

"Good, we thought you were never going to wake up… you were asleep for over twelve hours."

"Wow, really? It didn't feel like that long at all!" Blake says, dumbfounded.

"You lost a lot of blood, so we weren't surprised," Sam says.

"Yeah, guess I've just never woken up naturally after an injury like this," Blake says, trailing off as a thought occurs to her. "Did Wess get let out? He's usually the reason I can't wake up naturally."

Sam nods, "He woke me up at seven AM on the dot clawing at the door…"

Blake smiles apologetically, "Sorry… I'm not sure why he always goes out at that exact time."

"It's fine, you needed sleep much more than me. He was really well-behaved, too, I was almost surprised." Sam says, genuinely surprised the dog had been so obedient on their little 'excursion.'

Blake gives a small 'phew,' of relief, "I'm glad! I didn't know how well he'd listen to someone other than me while I wasn't around… It's good he didn't give you any trouble."

"None at all," Sam reassures.

"Oh, by the way," Dean cuts in, "you smell like roses, sweetheart. Don't know why you're so worried," he says, his tone gently teasing.

Blake rolls her eyes, almost forgetting that one of them had to move her to get her onto the bed. "Sure, let's go with roses," she agrees playfully, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and grabbing her jeans to change back into them in the bathroom.

Once she comes out she hands the boxers back to Dean and thanks him. Dean grins, "My pleasure."

"Thank you so much for letting me stay here last night, I don't know whether or not I would've been able to make it back on my own last night," Blake says once she has all of her things ready. "I'll wash your shirt and give it back to you the next time I see you, okay, Sam?"

"Nah, you should keep it, I was planning on throwing it out, but hadn't gotten around to it. It's too small for me, anyway," Sam says, waving her concern.

"Okay, thanks!" Blake grins, happy to have a new shirt. It may have been too small for Sam, but on Blake it was comfortably loose and allowed plenty of room.

"What do you plan on doing now?" Sam asks.

"Well, I'll probably stick around here for a month to make sure there are no more werewolves running around. I could really use the downtime anyway," Blake says, disdainfully poking her abdomen as she refers to the stitches holding her guts in. Okay, not really.

Sam nods, "That's what Dean and I were thinking about doing."

Blake claps her hands together, "Awesome, maybe I'll see you around town or something then. Oh! Here, we should probably exchange numbers in case one of us comes across something," she says as she snags a complimentary pen and notepad off the motel table and jots her number down. Sam and Dean do the same after she's done and she tears the paper in half and pockets the side with their numbers on it.

"Alright, thanks again. I guess I'll see you around sometime?" Blake asks, opening the door to the motel room.

"Of course. Bye, Blake."

"See ya, sweetheart."

Blake waves one last time before climbing into her car with Wess and driving off, leaving Sam and Dean to themselves.

"I can't shake the feeling that there's more to her than we see… " Sam mutters, watching her black car get smaller as it gets further away.

Dean nods, "I know! What was that, she didn't even drool when I gave her my 'special' smile!" Dean exclaims, using his hands to gesture the absurdity of the situation.

Sam tries to sigh, but it comes out as more of a snicker, "Some girls have more self-respect than the bar sluts you're so fond of… But seriously, you had to have noticed, right?"

Dean shrugs, rolling his eyes in exasperation as he shuts the door to the motel, "She had a lot of scars."

Sam snorts shaking his head at Dean, "Of course the only thing you noticed was physical."

"She had more scars than you and I combined, Sam. Either she's a shit hunter, or she's reckless. It's the same either way," Dean retorts, sounding slightly defensive.

"You're right… Shit! I can't believe I didn't think about it…" Sam says, cursing.

"Think about what?"

"After I stitched her up, she told me that the only thing that she lived for was Wess… Dean, if that dog ever dies… So does Blake." Sam says, frowning. "It's not that she's a bad hunter… It's that she doesn't care."

"What? What do you mean Wess is the only thing she lives for?" Dean asks giving Sam an incredulous look, only slightly surprised.

"Her parents are dead and she doesn't have any siblings… She's all alone except for Wess." Sam explains.

"Damn it… What do we do?" Dean asks.

Sam shakes his head sadly, "I don't know."

* * *

><p>"So what did Bobby say?" Dean asks as Sam hangs up.<p>

"It's not good… Bobby said that she has a reputation for taking only the most dangerous cases, that anyone who has any dirty jobs knows to go to her, and she'll do it." Sam says, frowning at his phone as he rolled it around in his palm.

"Does he want us to do anything?" Dean asks, leaning back in his chair.

"He didn't say anything about what he wanted us to do…" Sam says.

"Do YOU think we should do anything?" Dean asks, giving his brother a knowing look.

Sam shrugs, "I don't know. She's a hunter, but she still doesn't deserve to die… which is what's going to happen eventually. Maybe we should watch her, try to get closer to her."

"Then what will we do? We can't watch her forever, Sam."

"I don't know… We're going to hang out here for a month anyway, we might as well get to know her," Sam reasons.

"How do we do that?" Dean asks skeptically.

"It's a small town, so we have to run into her sometime… If worse comes to worst, we can scout out all of the motels in town, we already know what her car looks like." Sam says, trying to use logic to get his brother in on it.

Dean grabs his jacket off the back of his chair and throws it on, "Well, I dunno about you, Sammy, but I say we start with the bars," he says, grinning as he pulls the keys to the Impala out of his jacket and heads for the door.

Sam rolls his eyes and grudgingly follows, "Why would she be in a bar, Dean? It's-" he pauses to check his phone, "it's barely 9:30."

Dean smiles, "What wouldn't she be doing in a bar, Sammy? She's a hunter! Bars are a hunter's lifeblood!" Dean exclaims opening the driver's side door, though the look in his eye clearly tells Sam that he less than wholesome intentions.

Sam sighs, but goes along with it, slamming the Impala's door just as Dean peals out of the parking lot.

* * *

><p>Blake smiles nervously as she pretends to wipe the sweat off of her palms, approaching the rowdy group sitting at the table. "Um, excuse me?"<p>

One of the guys turns to face her, his eyes scouring Blake's curves as a smug smirk curls his lips. "Ya want somethin', sugar?"

Blake nods, gulping anxiously as she wrings her hands, "I-I couldn't help but notice that you all seemed to be very experienced with alcohol… I was wondering if you could show me the ropes of alcohol drinking? I was too embarrassed to drink in front of my friends on my birthday because everyone says I'll be a lightweight… I just wanted to see if it's true," she explains in a small, mousy voice, beginning to twirl her hand into her hair and glancing away from his face.

The man, who she can tell is only a couple years older than her, around 27 or so, smiles a positively lecherous grin as he gestures to an empty seat at the table, "Have a seat and we'll fix you right up, sugar."

Blake smiles and sighs in relief, "Oh, thank you so much!" She exclaims, allowing herself a small giggle of happiness. Blake takes a seat and folds her hands neatly on the table, brimming with eagerness.

The man smiles what must be his 'charming' smile, though all it succeeds in doing is making Blake want to wretch, "No problem, now, what do you want to do? Start with the little league stuff or go straight to the majors?"

Blake bites her lip and ponders the question, placing an innocent finger on her lip, "Let's go for the big shots," she decides, nodding with the finality of her decision.

The man nods, "Good choice," he smirks, calling a waiter to the table.

The waiter leaves and soon returns with a couple shot glasses full of clear liquid and places them on the table.

Blake purses her lips, "But they're so small… How much can they do?"

"Take a drink and find out, honey," one of the surrounding men jeers.

"Hold on, you all are doing me such a big favor, I want to repay you," Blake says, digging out a couple crisp hundred dollar bills from her purse. "How about we bet on how many I can drink?"

"Now we're talkin'," one of them snorts, "I could stand to make a couple hundred."

There's a general chorus of agreement as the men begin to pull their wallets out, each of them slapping various amounts of money on the table.

"I say she can't take more than two without puking."

"Nah, she'll make it to three."

"Are you kidding? This chick has never seen alcohol in her life, one is all she'll get down."

Blake shrugs, "You're right… So I think I'll guess something outrageous and go with… eight. So when I lose, whoever bet on the number I drank gets all the money, right?"

The men agree in various piggish and rude ways, and Blake picks up her first shot. She makes a show of sniffing it and curling her nose in disgust, before taking a tiny sip.

"It burns," Blake points out as she looks to the surrounding men for help, "Is it supposed to do that?" She asks, knocking back the rest of the small glass despite the alleged 'burn.'

There's a collective groan from the men who bet she couldn't keep her first shot down, and those who bet on two are looking a little hot under the collar.

Blake picks the second glass up and inspects it for a couple seconds before pouring it down her throat, this time coughing and spluttering dramatically. "That was worse than the first one… but not bad."

Soon, she's drank five shots. Blake smiles apologetically at the men, leaning heavily against the table, "I'm sorry… I guess I should've quit when one of you would've made money, but none of you bet I would make it past five. That would be dishonest anyway, and I like being honest. Don't you?" She asks her present company, giggling wildly.

"If I can keep drinking, should I?" She ponders, staring at them as she puts a finger to her bottom lip in mock contemplation.

The man sighs and runs a hand down his face, "Do whatever you want."

"Aye, aye, captain!" Blake yells, knocking back three more shots in quick succession. "Oh! That's eight! Did I win?" She asks, dissolving into wild giggles.

Most of the men had left in frustration by now, and the couple that were left scoffed at her, "Yes. You win. Now, take the money and go."

Blake grins and plucks the money off of the table, "This is a lot of money," she chirps, stumbling her way to the doors, "Bye, guys! Thank you so much for drinking with me! Maybe I'll come back some time!" She says, giggling hysterically, even as she trips dramatically over nothing.

Once the doors close behind her, Blake's whole demeanor changes, a genuine smile comes to her lips and that dazed look is gone. She has a reason to be happy, she just hustled somewhere in the neighborhood of two thousand dollars off of the bar scum back in there. Sure, she's a little buzzed, but after pulling that stunt more times than she can count, her tolerance is pretty high.

Blake straightens her posture, still slowly coming out of her giggly drunkard facade when she hears a familiar voice behind her.

"Nice hustling," Dean comments cooly, hands stuffed into his pockets and his posture lax.

To her credit, Blake doesn't flinch, instead she laughs. "Gotta pay for my sleazy motel room somehow," she retorts, facing the two men.

Dean snorts and elbows Sam, "Ain't that the truth?"

Sam ignores Dean, "Why don't you get a part-time job?" He asks, almost startling Blake with the earnestness in his voice.

Blake shrugs, "I do every once and a while when I'm in a place for longer than a month, but nothing turns money faster than hustling," she explains, grinning like a fool. "You've never hustled as a woman, have you? Well, we have definite advantages in the hustling department."

"What makes you say that?" Dean asks, ready to defend his amazing hustling skills.

"People, guys especially, more readily accept that a woman is bad at poker, or pool, or doing shots. It makes them feel more comfortable putting money on the line," Blake says.

Dean laughs, seeing the truth in her statement, "Damn, you must make out like a bandit."

Blake shrugs, "It's not like I forced them into anything," she says, smiling coyly. "Anyway, I'm headed back to the diner down the street, you two wanna tag along?"

Dean looks at Sam, and they come to a silent agreement, "Sure why not? We can take the Impala."

Blake nods, "That sounds better than walking," she agrees, following the boys to the Impala.

Sam and Dean climb in the front, leaving Blake the backseat. As she opens the door, she's greeted by the smell of warm leather and something distinctly masculine, like cologne, but not quite as processed. She decides it must be Sam and Dean, and that they smell like heaven. She runs a hand over the smooth leather seats, enjoying the feeling of it against her palms. There was something extremely homey and comforting about the car, and when they arrived at the diner, she almost didn't want to get out.

Eventually she does get out, though if only to keep Sam and Dean questioning her, and the three of them head into the small 24 hour diner. It's nearly deserted, but that's to be expected so late.

The diner is nothing special, but is cozy and well-kept. It has tons of memorabilia lining the walls, and an old jukebox in the corner.

The three of them take a seat, and begin browsing the menus. "It's nice here," Blake off-handedly comments, gazing at the décor.

Soon, a middle aged woman with a kind smile comes to take the trios orders, "What can I get you?"

Dean is the first to order, "Can I get a double cheeseburger with extra onions? Thanks, sugar," he says, giving her a charming smile as he hands her his menu.

"I'll take the Chef's Salad, thanks," Sam says, giving the waitress his menu.

Blake smiles sweetly, "Can I have a stack of pancakes and a side of sausage? Thank you."

The waitress nods and jots their orders, "Anything to drink?"

Blake and Dean each order black coffee, while Sam sticks with iced tea.

Blake folds her hands in her lap and looks curiously at Sam and Dean. "How long have the two of you been hunters?"

Dean shrugs, toying with packets of sugar, "Our whole lives pretty much."

"Me too…" Blake says, shifting to sit Indian-style on the slick leather of the diner booth.

The waitress returns briefly to place their drinks on the table. Blake wraps her hands around her mug of coffee, smiling, as she absentmindedly stirs the steaming liquid. It smells wonderful. "You're brothers, right?" She asks, already pretty sure of the answer.

"Yup," Dean confirms, elbowing Sam in the ribs, "raised this one since he was in diapers."

Blake smiles, slightly envious of the strong bond between the two of them; she didn't have anything like it. "How was that?" She asks, before clarifying, "Being on the road all the time with your little brother."

Dean shrugs, grabbing his own coffee, "It's all I ever knew, pretty much. I don't have anything to compare it to."

Sam nods, "It was normal for us. Traveling, sleazy motels, and gas station foods were staples of our childhood," he says, sounding slightly bitter.

Blake takes in all of the information like a sponge, remembering earlier when Sam told her their mother died when he was six months old. "Were the two of you alone a lot?" She asks, glancing away, too curious not to ask the question, but tactful enough to be embarrassed for asking.

"Are you kidding?" Dean asks rhetorically, "All the freakin' time."

Blake nods, quietly comparing their experiences of being raised to hers. "At least you had each other, right?" She asks hopefully.

"Yeah, I guess you can say that was a high point," Dean says noncommittally. "But it wasn't always unicorns and sunshine," he says almost sarcastically.

Sam cuts in the conversation, "Blake, you said you were a single-child, right? Well, how was that?"

Blake shrugs, casually leaning back, though both Sam and Dean could both tell she was coiled pretty tight with tension. "Lonely, I guess. My parents left me alone most of the time while they were on hunts."

"And?" Sam prods gently.

Blake laughs, "And it sucked, obviously… I hope you don't mind me saying, but I'm jealous of the two of you. I always wanted a sibling."

Dean and Sam shift awkwardly in their seats, not quite sure how to respond.

Blake pretends not to notice, "My parents were hunters long before I was born, when I came onto the scene, it was unexpected. Kind of threw a wrench into their plans. I don't think it changed much though."

Dean quirks an eyebrow at her, "What do you mean by that?"

Blake shakes her head, frowning lightly as she tries to find the right wording. "Hunting was their life, it was what they loved. When I was born, they couldn't hunt as much anymore because one of them would have to stay behind with me and it was generally a huge hassle. So as soon as they felt confident I could work a microwave and dial a phone, they would leave me in that stupid RV while they went and hunted all day. They never stopped hunting… hardly even slowed down."

"An RV?" Sam asks, giving her an odd look.

"Yup," Blake confirms, "it's just as weird and awful as it sounds. While you two had motels and gas station food, I guess I got the slightly more normal Fort Knox on wheels and microwave macaroni."

"Fort Knox on wheels?" Dean asks with an amused snort.

Blake laughs fondly, "That thing was crazy, I've never seen as many protection spells in one place since. It had salted iron reinforced walls and doors, and bars on the windows. It looked normal enough on the outside, but that's only because you couldn't see anything through the frosted windows."

"What happened to it?" Sam asks, stirring his tea.

Blake shrugs, "I don't really know. I sold it to some hunters a couple years back… I didn't want it. After my parents died, it just had too many memories," she says, shifting in her seat.

There's a heavy silence, and Sam looks about ready to break it when the waitress comes back with their food, "Here ya go," she says, setting a plate in front of Blake.

"Thank you."

The waitress smiles and places Sam and Dean's food on the table, "Alright, call me if you need anything," she says, retreating to the kitchen.

Blake grabs the bottle of syrup and douses her pancakes with it, making sure there's no part of the pancake left that isn't coated in syrup. She picks up her butter knife and cuts into the pancakes, steam escaping from the inside. She grins, jabbing a bite with her fork and swirling it in the run-off syrup pooled at the sides.

"You two look happy," Sam comments dryly.

Blake nearly giggles, instead she crams a bite of pancake into her mouth so as to not let the sound escape. She looks at Dean to find him in the same state of food-driven bliss. That must be what Sam meant.

Blake shrugs, chasing her pancake with a gulp of tepid coffee, "It's good," she says sheepishly in lieu of an actual explanation.

There isn't much conversation as the group eats, it's too be expected though, as Blake and Dean are too busy putting food in their mouths to talk and Sam can't hold a conversation on his own. The conversation picks up again as Blake's fork clinks against her plate for the last time and Dean's burger is nowhere to be seen.

"What's the worst injury you've ever got?" Dean asks out of the blue, staring at Blake curiously.

Blake is slightly confused by the abruptness of the question, but answers in a timely manner anyway, "It has to be the time I was hunting that rugaru… The bastard almost ate me alive. Since the human mouth is so filthy, I was in the hospital fighting the infection for weeks." She shifts the collar of her shirt out of the way and moves her hair, allowing Sam and Dean to see the large scar on the junction of her neck and shoulder.

Blake shakes her head in disbelief, "I still can't believe I lived, I thought I was a goner. Thankfully, though he couldn't bite down all the way because of my collar bone. He definitely scratched the hell outta it though. He only ended up with a mouthful of loose skin… He got a couple other bites in that were pretty bad, but the one on my neck was the worse. It makes you wonder when the next close call is going to be the last, huh?" She asks, smiling indulgently.

Dean nods, giving a small snort, "Definitely."

"Wow… So, uh, how'd you get away?" Sam asks uneasily.

Blake laughs, she would never dream of leaving something like that alive while she got away, "I didn't get away, I killed it and drug myself to the hospital. But it was a lucky break, for sure. The rugaru and I were grappling and he threw me onto the kitchen counter, this is where I got really lucky. There was an aerosol can of air freshener there. I grabbed it and used the lighter I had in my pocket to make a flamethrower. "

"Not a stranger to close calls, are you?" Dean asks, his disapproving tone making it clear the question was rhetorical.

Blake shrugs, "It comes with the job," she says, smiling absently.

"So do you know what happened to the djinn that killed your parents?" Sam asks.

Blake shakes her head, her face carefully void of emotion, "No. When I got there, it was already long gone, and my parents were dead."

Dean frowns, "I, uh, know it's not the same, but I saw my mother the night she died… I know a little of what you must've felt."

Blake smiles weakly, "It's okay… to be honest, my parents and I weren't ever very close. Sometimes they felt like strangers instead of parents." Blake pauses and uneasily inspects the speckled tile floors. "I feel bad for it… but I didn't even cry when they died." She takes a large gulp of her coffee, trying in vain to wish away the tense atmosphere. "How about you two? Where is your dad?"

"He's looking for the demon that killed our mother, we don't know where he is." Dean explains.

Blake's eyebrows furrow, "What's his name?"

"John Winchester."

Blake smiles faintly, "Ya don't say? I worked with a John Winchester sometime a couple years ago."

Dean cocks an eyebrow suspiciously, "Really? Our dad never worked with anyone."

Blake's cheeks burn a little as she admits, "Well, I kind of twisted his arm to get him to work with me."

Dean smirks, "Do tell."

"We happened to be looking into the same den of vampires at the time and ran into each other somehow… He got sort of upset when I mentioned going in on my own and tried to convince me to drop the case and let him handle it. I told him that I wasn't going to drop it and that I was going in whether he was helping me or not. I guess he didn't want me going in half-cocked and scaring all of the vamps off." Blake explains, laughing almost fondly at her brief memories of John Winchester.

"That was you?" Dean asks, incredulously. "He talked about you briefly, said he had found some 19 year old girl crazy enough to try and take a whole den of vampires by herself. He was worried about you."

Blake's eyes widen, and she looks genuinely confused, almost lost. "Why would he be worried about me?" She mumbles.

Dean shrugs, "Couldn't say. Maybe he thought you were too young to be on your own, hunting."

Blake glances away, her head hurting as it muddles through the possibility of John Winchester actually worried for her. It creates a foreign feeling in her chest, and it almost hurts. She wishes she could go back to thinking that he was only concerned about her screwing up his hunt.

Unseen to Blake, Sam and Dean share a look, equally alarmed by her reaction.

"Why would you think that he was only worried about you scaring the vampires away?" Sam asks gently, genuine worry for her in his eyes.

Blake turns her large, confused eyes on him, "I… I just didn't think he would care about me. Most hunters I've ever worked with were more than happy to let me be the bait or to let me do the more dangerous parts of the job… I must've assumed he was the same and only cared about the job."

"You know…" Dean starts softly, "he wanted to help you. He didn't like the thought of you out there alone, hunting things that grown men are scared of," he says gruffly, trying to maintain some semblance of manliness.

If Blake was confused earlier, this is where her brain broke. She takes a deep breath and rubs at the persistent ache that had taken root at her temple, articulate replies escaping her like water through her fingers. She's so confused and lost it hurts; she doesn't know what to do. Blake pulls her gaze from her hands, looking at the brothers seated across from her, silently pleading for help.

Sam and Dean share a meaningful look, communicating silently. Dean frowns and looks Blake, her crestfallen gaze eliciting his protective side, the one that wanted to save everyone. But Sam was better at these things, he'd have to handle it.

"Blake…" Sam says softly, "we're worried about you too."

Blake's features twist in confusion, "Why?" She asks quietly.

"We talked to our friend, and he told us that while you're a good hunter, you take dangerous jobs without any back up. Even among the hunting community, you're known for being reckless. We just want to know you're okay… Let you know that you aren't alone," Sam explains gently.

Blake shakes her head and grabs her purse, "I'm okay," she whispers, her mouth dry as she places a twenty dollar bill on the table and tries to refrain from sprinting to the exit, instead she walks briskly. The bell above the door signals her escape from the diner, and the brothers don't try to follow her. It comforts her none.

Blake is terrified out of her wits.

* * *

><p>Sam sighs, staring at the door as it closes behind Blake, shaking his head. "What now?"<p>

Dean shrugs, "I don't know. She bailed on us faster than lifeboats from the Titanic. Maybe she doesn't want help."

"You can't honestly believe that," Sam says bluntly. "You saw how… scared she looked!"

"Well, then what do we do, Sam?" Dean asks gruffly. "She's just going to run every time. It's not going to change anything. I mean, sheezus, she bolted when you even implied trying to help her! She's not exactly open to the idea, Sam!"

"It's because she's not used to having any one care about her! You heard her, she's been used as bait by hunters before, probably more than we know. Hell, she thought dad was only worried about the job when it's obvious he was trying to get her to drop the case because he didn't want her hurt," Sam says, his voice firm. Blake needed someone to help her, and if Sam had anything to say about it, it would be him and Dean.

Dean shakes his head and stands up from the booth, "Let's go, we'll deal with it in the morning."

Sam frowns, but complies as he follows Dean out of the diner and into the Impala.


	3. Paint it Black

A/N

Hi guys and welcome to the third chapter of _Rabbit,_ I hope you enjoy! The song in there is "Paint it Black," by the Rolling Stones, and it was just a random song I picked, it doesn't mean anything. Please tell me if there was anything that contradicted itself or if I got Sam or Dean out of character. I've also decided that I'm going to try and update this once every week, but please forgive me if I can't keep it up.

Thanks so much for reading and be sure to drop a line~

OH! Also, thanks so much for the reviews, watches, and favorites! They really encouraged me. *heart*

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any recognizable trademarks, but I do own Blake and Wess.

* * *

><p>Blake lies on the lumpy, stained mattress of her motel room, staring blankly at the ceiling as her mind slogs through her thoughts. The process is slow and unforthcoming in results, as her thoughts moved like chilled molasses, that is to say, barely at all. Sam and Dean had terrified her in a way that no supernatural entities could.<p>

They worried for her.

It's a lot for Blake to handle, especially since she's not used to people worrying for her. Her parents didn't care to show that they were worried. But Sam and Dean, two brothers that had accidentally stumbled across her on a hunt, did. So they said, anyway. She liked to give them the benefit of the doubt though, as what did they have to gain from lying about caring for her? It's not like she had anything to give them. There were much more willing participants at bars if they were looking for a screw. She didn't have anything apart from the money she hustled and Wess. She helped anyone who asked, too. Surely they must've known that. They knew she took dangerous jobs, they must've known that if they wanted help, they only had to ask.

What did they want from her?

Her mind chases itself in circles, coming to the same unreliable answer-

Nothing. They didn't want anything from her.

That might've been what terrified her the most.

Blake bites back a growl and yanks her jacket on, storming out of her motel room and slamming the door with unnecessary force. Right now, all she needed was some good company.

She and Jack Daniels went way back.

* * *

><p>Loud, slightly static-y music begins to play in the stifling quietness of Blake's motel, "<em>I see a red door and I want it painted black, no colors any more I want them to turn black…<em>"

Blake groans, her head pounding as she pushes herself up on her elbows and gropes around blindly for her phone. Her hand meets cools plastic and she brings it up to her ear, cursing as she remembers she has to press a button to take the call. Who was calling at such an ungodly hour? It was... well, it was six in the afternoon, but she was sleeping!

"Hello?" She snaps irritably, finally managing to answer the call.

"Blake? Hey, it's Sam."

Blake's whole body tenses, and she stiffly pushes herself into a sitting position. "Oh, uh, hi… Sam. Um, did you… need anything?" She asks awkwardly, running a hand through her hair and trying to comb it out of her face.

"Huh? Oh, no, I just wanted to apologize for last night, I didn't mean to upset you," Sam apologizes.

Blake is taken off-guard, she didn't expect him to apologize. She panics and blurts the first thing that comes to mind and seems like it will help the situation, "I was just scared. I didn't know what to think. So I did what I always do when things get scary… I ran."

Sam is obviously shocked at her easy admittance to being scared, "Why, um, why would you be scared, Blake? We just want to help you."

"Because when people care, I have to take responsibility for my actions," Blake says, still answering his questions with the first thing that comes to mind. "I thought it over last night, and that's why… That's why I decided to leave the rest of this case to you and Dean. I, um, already have a new job lined up and I'm going to be headed there first thing in the morning."

"So… you're leaving?" Sam asks, almost skeptically.

"Running is what I do best," Blake replies, too serious to be sarcastic. "Thanks for everything, though. Bye Sam." Satisfied with having the last word, Blake pulls her phone from her ear and ends the call.

Blake sighs and massages her temples, trying to wish away her headache. Wess puts his head on her knee and stares at her sadly.

Blake scratches his ears absently, "We should get ready to go, Wess."

Wess whines and crawls onto the bed, laying across her lap in a silent protest, causing Blake to giggle, "You're a brat, you know that?"

Wess's tail wags and he barks happily, twisting around to lick Blake's cheek. "Aww, Wess! Yuck, you know how I feel about the licking!" Blake weakly reprimands, but it only makes Wess's tail wag faster.

Blake huffs, faking irritation, "You really are a brat, but you have to get up, you're on my stitches," she grumbles, coaxing Wess off of her lap.

Wess gives her his best puppy eyes, but she's immune and he's shooed off her lap in spite of his attempts.

"All right!" Blake says, clapping her hands together, "Let's get packed!"

Roughly ten minutes later, Blake is completely packed and ready to go. She told Sam she was leaving tomorrow, but she lied. She didn't really know how likely it was that they would come after her, but she didn't want to take the chance. They scared the piss out of her with their worrying and all that whatnot.

All she needs is a good ol' fashioned hunt and Wess, anything more than that gets too complicated.

Blake smiles and lovingly strokes Wess's head, scratching beneath his chin. "You're the only one I need, right?"

Wess barks happily, his tail wagging as he barks in response to her question. He may not understand what she was saying, but he did understand that she was talking to him.

"I'm gonna take a bath, okay? Be good," Blake commands, grabbing her bag of toiletries and a change of clothes. She wanted to leave as soon as possible, but she also wanted to take a shower before she left. She had been able to sponge herself off and make herself presentable yesterday, but now what she really needed was a good shower. It had been long enough since she got stitches that she could get them a little wet, and it's not like Sam and Dean were going to hunt her down anyway. She could have an hour or so to herself. She would leave after she got out of the shower.

Blake nods to herself, content with her reasoning, and turns the faucets in the bathroom on to hot.

Blake's shower is over all too soon, and before she knows it, she's lounging on her bed and toweling her hair off, already dressed and packed to leave. She sighs and tosses the towel into the bathroom, the maids would get it. She wasn't sure why, but she didn't really want to leave. She just had this funny feeling in her gut that told her to stay. She didn't often ignore her feelings, call it a hunter's intuition, but listening to that little niggling in the back of her mind had served her well.

Perhaps she'd wait an hour before leaving.

Pleased with her current plan of action, Blake reclines on her bed and watches _Dr. Sexy M. D.,_ Wess's head in her lap as he dozes.

Blake giggles quietly, watching _Dr. Sexy M. D. _with rapt attention. It was a guilty pleasure, she'd never willingly admit to liking the show to anyone. It's just that when you're holed up in a motel room all day, cable TV becomes your savior. Dr. Sexy was extremely good looking too. That was always a plus.

Dr. Sexy had just diagnosed someone with a rare disease when a loud pounding at the motel room's door draws Blake's attention. She quirks an eyebrow at it, confused as to who would be at her door, and turns the TV off.

She creeps slowly up to the door, grabbing a gun and tucking a flask of holy water into her pocket as she goes, the pounding persists.

Cursing the lack of peep hole, Blake pulls the door open slowly, ready for anything as her eyes fall upon her visitor.

Of course it would be a Winchester. Blake sighs and opens the door wider, using her free hand to grab the flask out of her pocket, "Thirsty?" She asks sarcastically, instinctively knowing Dean would understand it was full of holy water.

Dean rolls his eyes at her and tugs the flask out of her hands, "Not really," he says before taking a swig and dramatically swishing it back and forth in his cheeks for show.

Blake shrugs and sets her gun down on the table next to the door, "I like to be sure. Because only demons and stalkers track people down, and that just crossed off demon so…" She says, intentionally trailing off as she leans against the door.

Dean snorts, "Nice, but you forgot that 'professional stalking' is basically written into the hunter job description." He retorts, pushing the flask back into her hand.

Blake tries to hide a laugh as she smiles, "You have quite the tongue on you, don't you?" She asks teasingly, amused at the double meaning.

"I'm sure you'd like to see what else my tongue could do, but that's not why I tracked you down," Dean says, his tone becoming more serious towards the end.

"Oh, now I'm interested," Blake replies, sweeping her arm out towards her room in exaggerated welcoming gesture.

Dean doesn't hesitate as he saunters right in, "Let's get down to business. You aren't leaving. Not when Sam is so worried over you, because when he worries, I worry. And we can't have that, you follow me?"

Blake barks a harsh sarcastic laugh, immediately going on the defensive, "That's sweet. But you really have no reason to worry over me," she growls back, deadly serious. To be honest, it was all just bravado and more of a wounded animal reaction than actual anger. He scared her, she'd do anything to make him leave at this point, and if she had to howl and spit and threaten… she'd do it. It was all in the interest of self-preservation, in Blake's mind.

"Oh, really? Well, that changes things! Let me just get out of your hair!" Dean yells back sarcastically, causing Wess's ears to flatten against his skull in displeasure. Wess definitely didn't like Dean's aggressive posture and tone of voice while addressing Blake. Rumbling snarls pour from Wess's throat as he slinks off the bed and plants himself firmly between Blake and Dean.

"If you could just do that, we'd be great!" Blake spits in response, absently putting a comforting hand on Wess's head.

"Yeah? Well, sorry, I lied. I'm not leaving until you promise me something," Dean growls, if he noticed Wess snarling, he didn't show it. When you dealt with werewolves on a regular occasion, dogs weren't quite so scary.

Blake's eyes narrow dangerously and her fingers curl into Wess's fur, "I'm not promising you anything."

Dean's anger mirrors Blake's, "Then you won't be leaving here for a while. Because if you haul off and get your ass killed, Sam's going to blame himself for it!"

Blake's anger is put on the backburner to be replaced by confusion, "You think I'm going to get myself killed?"

"Of course we think you're going to get yourself killed! The few hunters who care to keep track of you cringe every time they hear your name because they're positive it's going to be someone talking about how you were ripped apart and eaten!" Dean yells, gesturing to accent his words.

Blake is stunned into silence, so Dean continues, "And you want to know what the saddest part is? It's not because you're bad at hunting, it's because you don't care! You don't care what happens to yourself, and that's the kind of selfish attitude that gets people killed!"

Blake visibly recoils, staring at him in blatant shock, "What are you saying?"

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, "I'm saying that if you don't learn how to value your life a little more, it's only a matter of time until you're dead, and no matter what you think about your life, people _will_ be affected by your death."

Blake mind is once again overrun with confusion. She was so used to the thought that she flew miles under the radar of everyone, that it was weird to think that someone actually cared to keep tabs on her. Blake drags a hand across her face, her distress obvious. At the moment she sort of felt like a fire that someone had dumped water on, she can remember her anger, and it's still there, it's just not in any shape to return. "I don't care. I really don't care," Blake mumbles, shaking her head.

"You're lying," Dean bluntly remarks, staring Blake down.

"And what's it got to do with you?" Blake asks quietly. "I don't know why you think you can just jump into the picture and make decisions for me. I've only known you, what, two to three days tops? Why does it matter to you and Sam if I die? Yeah, so maybe it's going to happen one day. Hell! It'll be soon if I'm lucky. But I don't see how it involves you or Sam." Blake's voice is cold, polite, and flat, she's doing everything she think of to get rid of Dean.

"You just admitted that you hope you die soon and you wonder why people assume you're dead every time they hear about you? I mean, come on! You can't be that blind!" Dean exclaims, determined to get something through to her. He didn't know what it would be, but she was going to leave this room with something, SOMETHING she didn't have before. He'd make sure of it and hope like hell it was positive.

Blake rolls her shoulder to work some of the tension out of them, she hated conflicts with people. Why couldn't she just solve them the same way she dealt with vampires? It would make life so much easier. "You still haven't told me why you care."

"Because you need someone looking out for you. Sam and I have each other, we have our father, we have Bobby, and a whole mess of other hunters who would more than likely have our backs. Who do you have, huh? When you dig a hole you can't get out of on your own, what do you do?" Dean asks, seemingly calm and genuinely curious, though he definitely had a point in mind to prove.

Blake gives a harsh sarcastic laugh. "I keep digging."

Dean opens his mouth to reply when Blake shakes her head, "No. I think we're done here," she says, grabbing the bags next to the door and slinging them over her shoulder. She takes the gun off the table and clicks the safety on, placing it in her weapons' bag. "Is the room clear, Wess?"

Wess runs a quick check of the room, sticking his nose in random places to check for any of Blake's belongings. His search turns up nothing, so Blake pulls the door open.

"So that's it, huh? Just going to bail as soon as it looks like there might be a couple of people who give a shit about what happens to you?" Dean questions coldly.

Blake spares him a scathing over the shoulder glance, already beginning the trek to her car, "Yup. It was nice meeting the two of you, though. I hope next time we meet we're on better terms."

Dean scoffs, "We'll be lucky if the next time we meet, you aren't in a body bag. You can't keep on like this and you know it."

Blake shrugs, all pretenses dropped, "That implies you care enough to go pick up my body. I guess someone has to."

Dean growls softly in irritation, did nothing he just said make it through to her? He was trying to make it obvious he and Sam DID care, maybe he wasn't the best at so-called 'chick flick moments,' and admittedly this was more of a yelling match, but what else could he have said?

He should've made Sam come with him.

* * *

><p>Blake crawls into the front seat of her car, groaning and rubbing her eyes. That might have just been one of the most awful nights of sleep she's ever had. She didn't even sleep, not really. It was like she spent the whole night in a constant state of hovering between the fuzzy line of sleep and awake. She's start to actually fall asleep when she would remember what happened the day before. She would then be dragged into a more conscious state, metaphorically climbing onto the same merry-go-round of events all over again. Let's just say it wasn't fun.<p>

Blake grumbles and tries to rub the cricks out of her neck, rolling and flexing her shoulders as she climbs out from the backseat and into the drier's seat. She had drove for a long time last night before finally deciding that she was far enough away from the two brothers that had cost her so much emotional drama. It was sort of ridiculous, and the more she thought on it, the more she felt immature for her behavior. Did she regret it? Nope. Would she do the same exact things if she had the chance? Yup. But that didn't mean it was acceptable, nor that it was mature.

Yawning once more, Blake pops her car door open to go rummage around in the trunk. She grabs three things, a jug of water she keeps in her car at all times, a toothbrush and toothpaste. Just because she's on the road doesn't mean her hygiene has to suffer… she just hasn't yet mastered the art of roadside showers. That's a problem to be approached at a later date.

Blake takes a gulp from the jug, swishing it between her teeth before spitting it out and squeezing a glob of toothpaste onto her toothbrush. She hops onto the hood of her car, lazily brushing her teeth as she watches the scenery. All of the little forest animals ignore her as they go about their business, birds tend to young and squirrels scurry from place to place, their manner erratic and their twitching nearly spastic.

Blake watches the animals, content and happy with the small things in life, such as brushing your teeth on the side of the road while tiny furred creatures entertain you. Yup, it's always the small things. She was just glad she got a little down time, she didn't actually have any hunts lined up, it was just something she said to Sam for an excuse to leave. A hunt would find her eventually, they always did.

Blake sighs and leans back against the windshield, toothbrush dangling haphazardly from her lips as the moist air of the forest trailed its fingers over her. The place smelled wonderfully clean and fresh.

Blake crawls sluggishly off of the car, spitting out the toothpaste foam and gargling soon after. It was about time for her to get going anyway.

Blake opens the passenger side door and shakes the snoozing hound awake, "Wess, do you have to go potty, bud?"

Wess shakes himself off and tumbles sleepily out of the car, trotting off to take care of business. Blake laughs at his drowsy form and closes the car door before hopping back onto the hood of the car. She closes her eyes and dozes lightly for a couple minutes, on the verge of full on passing out when she notices something very strange… the forest animals had left. She quirks an eyebrow and surveys the surrounding area with the critical eye of a hunter.

Finding nothing from her search, she whistles for Wess. Wess barrels out of the foliage and is at her side in moments, watching her curiously. Blake observes Wess closely, analyzing the movements and flickering of his ears. He seems to hear something.

"What is it, Wess?" Blake asks, concerned as to what Wess was hearing.

Wess looks at her and faces the forest, taking a few steps toward it before checking to see if Blake was following him. Getting the idea, Blake trails closely after him, curious to see what he had heard.

"Help! Help me! Please, somebody!" A small, feminine voice shrieks.

Blake tenses and draws her gun from her waistband, "Hold on! I'll be right there, where are you?"

"Please hurry! I need help!" The voice continues.

"Okay, I'm coming to get you, just keep talking to me!" Blake hollers back, sprinting through the forest to find the girl. "Go back to the car and _stay,_ Wess," Blake commands, satisfied when she hears Wess turn tail and bound back the way they came.

"Please help me, somebody!" The voice screams, extremely close to where Blake is.

Blake bursts into a small clearing, branches clawing at her clothes, and expects to see someone in it.

"Help! Help me! Please, somebody!" the feminine voice yells from behind Blake.

Blake's stomach drops into her toes as she whirls around and fires off a couple shots in the direction of the voice. How could she have not noticed? How could she fall into such an obvious trap?

There's an inhuman shriek of anger and an almost imperceptible whisper of leaves as the creature circles Blake faster than even Blake's highly trained senses can detect.

The voice she once thought to be small and fragile inherits a clearly malicious and mocking tone, "Please hurry! I need help! Please help me, somebody!" the wendigo shrieks, its stolen voice echoing from all around Blake as it closes in on her. She prepares to pull the trigger again when her gun is ripped out of her hands by the wendigo. Her gun lands a couple yards away, there was no hope of recovering it because the wendigo had such a speed advantage.

The gust that the wendigo is kicking up swirls around Blake, picking up her hair and playing with it, Blake tenses. It was getting closer.

Taking the initiative, Blake slowly crouches down, reaching for the knife hidden in her boot when the wendigo's clawed hand whips across her face, spending Blake sprawling and blood splattering. Blake presses a hand to the three shallow cuts on her jawbone, a bolt of fear shooting down her spine. It was playing with her. Those cuts were kitten scratches compared to the damage it should've done.

Blake's hand shoots towards the knife in her boot, determined to get the knife and try to defend herself against the wendigo.

This time the blow from the wendigo knocks her out cold.

* * *

><p>A couple hours later, Blake rouses. She's tied up and hanging from the ceiling, she obviously must've been in the wendigo's lair. Awesome. The only bright side was that, from the looks of things, Blake was its first victim of the season. There was a huge downside to that though, too. It meant that it was hungry, and she would have much less time to escape before it started making a snack out of her.<p>

Blake's head throbs painfully and she remembers the scratches on her face, they seem to have quit bleeding. That didn't mean that they hadn't already coated her neck and chest in blood though. She must've smelled delicious to the wendigo. In fact, she honestly didn't even know why the bastard had waited so long to eat her.

Perhaps this was the end.

Blake only entertains the thought for a brief second before barking a laugh at the irony as she remembers her words from only less than 24 hours ago.

"_Hell! It'll be soon if I'm lucky." _

Boy, did she know how to jinx herself.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad though. Wess was waiting by her car, someone would have to come across him eventually, and hopefully alert the police. He wasn't ever aggressive towards any one, he would let them get close enough to catch him. He was microchipped so they would know he was hers, and when they found her abandoned car, they would take him to the pound. He was such a well-behaved, gorgeous dog that Blake had no doubts he would be adopted fast.

Blake smiles tiredly, lulled into a sense of contentment with her situation. This wasn't so bad, maybe it was the escape she'd sought after. Maybe things would finally change.

Just as her eyes slide closed, heavy with the belief that they would never open again, Dean's voice rings clearly through her head.

"…_if you haul off and get your ass killed, Sam's going to blame himself for it!" _

Blake scowls, "It's not my fault. I never asked him to care."

"…_no matter what you think about your life, people __**will**__ be affected by your death."_

Blake nearly snarls, "I don't care! It's my life! I can die if I damn well feel like it!"

"_You don't care what happens to yourself, and that's the kind of selfish attitude that gets people killed!"_

"You're wrong!" Blake barks, vehemently denying the voice in her head.

"_When you dig a hole you can't get out of on your own, what do you do?"_

"I don't need anyone; I can get out of this myself!" Blake snaps, beginning the slow, chaffing process of kicking the ropes off her feet in order to prove Dean wrong and escape, all on her own. She's never needed any one before, and she didn't now.

* * *

><p>An hour later, Blake's foot, boot and all, slips out of the ropes. Blake considers it a small victory, as she now had to get her foot up to her mouth so she could get the knife out of her boot without using her hands. It didn't sound like much fun.<p>

Blake kicks her other foot free and swings her right foot up as close to her mouth as she can get it. Which it's not as close as she had hoped it was going to be. She uses her left thigh to brace her right foot, and brings her left knee closer to her chest. It works well enough that she can now use her teeth to grasp the leather of her boot. She adjusts the position of her left knee to keep her right foot in place, and uses her teeth to pull the knife free of her boot.

Finally! Blake would grin, but she's much to scared it will compromise the position of the knife in her mouth.

After carefully arranging the knife into a better position with her tongue, Blake uses her upper body strength to pull herself up to where she's eye level with the knot of rope holding her wrists together. Clenching her teeth down on the handle of the knife, she leans forward and begins to saw at the rope, wishing her knife was serrated.

It takes a couple minutes, and by the time she's on the verge to cutting through the rope, her head is killing her, her lips are cracked and bleeding, and her arms cramp so horrifically her whole body is shaking with the strain of keeping her weight up. But it finally snaps, dropping Blake to the floor with a heavy thump.

Blake smiles and spits the knife out, resting for just a moment on the hard floor of the cave. Finally breathing properly once again, Blake rolls onto her knees and slides the ropes off of her hands. She grabs the knife and makes a break for the exit, sprinting as fast as her battered and exhausted body will allow. It's nothing compared to her usual speed, as she keeps wobbling and stumbles over nothing, but it feels like it's enough to at least get her back to her car.

Blake is nearly a hundred feet from the road when she allows herself a small laugh of relief. It looks like she was actually going to make it!

The wendigo must've left to get more hostages, but it didn't matter, Blake was going to come back, and this time she'd be prepared. That wendigo wouldn't stand a chance once she got to her stash of weapons.

If she made it to her stash of weapons, that is.

The leaves rustle violently and branches snap loudly, signaling the arrival of the one thing Blake was dreading the most. The wendigo had caught up with her, and from the sounds it was making, it didn't care if she knew where it was. It didn't have a reason to care. She may have had a knife this time, but nothing would change, it still had superior speed and strength.

Even Blake knew she didn't stand a chance, but it didn't mean she was going to roll over and let the wendigo win. No, it was going to have to work for its meal.

The wendigo begins circling her again, and Blake slashes at it whenever it gets too close, nicking it a couple times, but otherwise doing no good. The wendigo stops and goes stock still a couple feet in front of her, waiting for her to make a move. Blake lunges, arm out stretched and knife out ready to sink into the belly of the wendigo, when it raises an arm and swats Blake's wrist, cracking the bones and forcing her to drop the knife.

Blake recoils sharply, biting her lip to stop the yelp of pain as she cradles her now broken wrist to her chest. Her world soon goes black as the wendigo lands a blow to her temple.

It seems like only seconds later when her eyes open again, it wasn't too far off though because the wendigo was still tying her ropes. She fades in and out of consciousness, able to feel the wendigo tightening the ropes around her wrists to the point where the bones in her broken wrist grind together painfully, but not yet cognitive enough to do anything about it.

Finally, it strings her up by the ceiling again, and as a last step, it gouges its claws into her calf, ripping several long lines of flesh open. Blake's head lolls backwards and gives a muffled scream of pain, her eyes nearly tearing up. She wasn't sure if it was punishment for trying to escape, or insurance that if she did escape again, she wouldn't get far. Her entire calf was now just a bloody mess of mangled flesh.

Blake had to find a way to escape, and soon. The wendigo stalks off and Blake sets immediately to planning.

Blake tests her weight on her wrists, seeing how much strain she could put on them to figure out if she could try to pull herself up to the ropes again and gnaw them off. It was worth a try. Blake's body tenses and she cries out in agony as the pain flares up to a hundred times worse than it was before.

There was no way that was going to work again, it just hurt too much.

Blake closes her eyes and allows her head to droop, she tried. She tried really hard, and she got so, so close to being free. Now, she didn't quite feel so guilty. If she died now, she could honestly say that she fought as hard as she could. It was okay now. She was going to be okay. She exhales slowly, adopting a peaceful state of mind that takes her miles away from the pain she was feeling.

For the second time that day, Blake closes her eyes with the belief that they will never open again.

And for the second time that day, Dean Winchesters voice echoes through her mind.

"_So that's it, huh? Just going to bail as soon as it looks like there might be a couple of people who give a shit about what happens to you?"_

Blake moans lowly, brokenly in the back of her throat, '_Not you again. Look, I tried. I really, really tried. Now I have nothing left._'

Blake's eyes pop open in surprise, how could she forget? She still had her cell phone! It was in the pocket of her jeans, she hadn't thought of it before because honestly, who was going to care enough to come save her?

But… if what Sam and Dean were saying was true and not just a bunch of lies, then maybe they would care enough.

Blake wiggles her boot off, eternally grateful the wendigo left her feet untied, and swings her uninjured leg up to her front pocket, using her toes to carefully maneuver the phone out of her jeans. Keeping the phone pressed between her hip and her foot, she slowly begins to try and slide it up to her mouth.

But on the way up, her phone hits the bump of her belt and falls, making a soft thump on the ground.

If she wasn't so devastated, Blake would've laughed. '_Are you happy now, Dean? Now that I actually want to live… there's nothing I can do to save myself._'

Blake shakes her head sadly and looks forlornly at her phone perched on her discarded boot. It was so close. She sighs and allows all of the tension to leave her body, her toes skimming the ground with the extra inch or so this allotted her.

Wait, could she reach it?

Blake stretches her body to the fullest, and she can just barely grasp the edge of the boot with her toes to pull it, along with the phone towards her. It's painful, and her whole body aches, especially her calf and her wrist, not to mention the old werewolf wounds that seemed to have opened sometime during the struggles of the day. The stitches must've busted, maybe it was when she fell in her earlier escape attempt, and maybe it was when the wendigo was carrying her. Whatever it was, it doesn't matter, it just hurts.

Blake can just barely depress the buttons with her big toe, dialing Dean's number from memory. Her heart gives an excited lurch in her chest as the phone begins ringing, as one last afterthought, she presses the speakerphone button with her toe.

"Hello?"

Blake laughs softly in pure, undiluted relief. She might really make it.

"Dean? …It's Blake," Blake says, hoping the phone would pick the sound up.

"Blake? What do you want?" Dean asks, sounding kind of grumpy.

"Um," Blake swallows thickly, "when you said that I needed someone to look after me… who did you mean?"

"I meant me an' Sam, who else would I mean, the Easter Bunny?" Dean asks sarcastically.

Blake smiles, "Good… um, if you could… would you help me now?"

"Uh, yeah… why d'you ask?" Dean questions, his tone suspicious.

"Because I could really use a hand right now… I, um, got captured by a wendigo." Blake uneasily admits.

"You WHAT? Ah, you gotta be kiddin' me!" Dean exclaims, as a static-y rustling noise comes over the line. "Where are you?"

Blake tells him the name of the road her car was parked on, "My car is visible from the road, Wess should be waiting next to or around it, whistle for him and he should come. He can lead you to me."

"Alright, sit tight, don't get eaten, we're on our way."

Blake laughs in relief, her eyes tearing up with happiness. She almost couldn't believe that they were still willing to help her even though she had been so awful to them both.

"…and Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."


	4. A Hesitant Agreement

First of all, I'd just like to thank everyone for their support! I'm just so happy that you all took the time to read, review, watch, favorite, or even PM me. I didn't know what to expect when I began posting, I didn't even think anyone would even read it, so I was geared for disappointment. This is so much more than I ever expected and it makes me want to hug all of you. Thank you so, so much! _Rabbit_, is the first chaptered story I've ever posted anywhere, and the feedback makes me optimistic for the future. All of you are awesome!

…And I'm sorry this chapter was so late! I know I said I'd try to get a chapter out every week, but I failed the first week I tried! It's because I honestly have had the worse week I have EVER had. Because of this, when I was writing... I wasn't always in the best state of mind, so if its... awful, I really, truly apologize! I'm also sorry if Sam and Dean are OOC... Hopefully in time, I will get better!

To Hannah: I wanted to reply to you personally, but you weren't signed into an account, so I couldn't. But I just wanted to thank you for your review!

WARNING: This chapter is a little more graphic than the others. Personally, I don't think it's too bad, but its enough to where I felt it needed a warning. It's only a little bloody, nothing else.

* * *

><p>The wendigo stalks slowly towards Blake, its sickly gray sallow skin stretched taut over its gaunt limbs. Blake is blissfully unaware, caught in a fitful slumber. The wendigo cares little whether she's awake or asleep. It raises a grotesquely gnarled hand and slides its razor sharp claw under the skin of Blake's forearm, shearing a strip of skin about an inch wide and around six inches long off of her arm.<p>

Blake's eyes pop open and she yelps loudly, the first thing she sees is the wendigo slurping the strip of skin into its mouth as if it were a pasta noodle. The wound doesn't bleed much since her arms have been held above her head for so long and most of the blood has drained away, but it feels as if someone is holding a molten hot piece of metal to her skin, or lack thereof. Especially when the wendigo breathes on it, she isn't sure if it's doing in on purpose or not, but every time it exhales, its hot, putrid breath sets the nerves in her arm on absolute fire.

The wendigo raises it clawed hand again, and Blake panics, recoiling sharply as she draws her knees up to her chest and donkey kicks the wendigo's stomach, ignoring the scorching pain in her left calf. The wendigo is unfazed, and its hand continues on it path, catching the last button on the bottom of her shirt with its claw, and slowly dragging it upwards. The buttons unfortunate enough to be caught in the path of the wendigo's claw pop off one by one, until finally, Blake's shirt falls open.

In different company, perhaps Blake would be concerned with modesty. But as it is, she knows that all the wendigo wants is the most likely tastier meat on her abdomen. She suppresses a shudder at the thought, and she strains to wriggle away from its talons. Unfortunately, her position does not allow her any leverage, and the only thing she accomplishes is making the rope chafe and increase the pressure on her wrists.

The wendigo's claws dig into the skin below her ribs, pulling it slowly and beginning to shred the skin. Blake bites back a yelp, she wants to kick the wendigo again, but at this point she's too scared it will make it jerk its hand back do damage it wasn't going to do otherwise.

Unable to do anything, Blake clenches her eyes shut and hopes desperately that something will come along and distract the wendigo from eating her.

Maybe dreams do come true.

The wendigo jerks abruptly, its talons disengaging from her flesh with a sickening suction-esque sound. Blake gasps in pain, her eyes flying open to see the wendigo flailing around in a nearly comical fashion, a dark, furred form clinging to the wendigo's leg with its fangs.

"Wess!" Blake yells, struggling against her bonds. "Get out of here, Wess!" She shrieks, desperation making her heart clench in fear. What was the wendigo going to do to Wess?

"Let go, Wess!" Blake howls hoarsely, tears in her eyes. "Get out of here!"

Just when she thinks the wendigo has recovered its wits enough to begin retaliating against Wess, a sharp whistle sounds and Wess leaps away from the wendigo and back towards the entrance of the cave. The whistle is followed closely by something that sounds like a gun shot, but it's definitely not normal, and the wendigo bursts into flames.[1]

Blake watches the wendigo disintegrate with wide, stunned eyes, her breath heavy as a couple tears leak down her cheeks. She shakily turns her gaze towards the entrance to see two silhouettes standing in the brightness, the distinct form of Wess sitting at the silhouette's heel.

Ecstatic, almost uncharacteristically bubbly giggles pour from Blake's lips as more tears clear paths through the grime on her face.

They came to save her.

"Damn, she's worse off than I thought. Help me cut her down, Sam," Dean commands as he tucks his arm under her knees and places his other arm along her shoulders. Sam pulls out a knife and slices through the rope, Blake's weight settling neatly into Dean's arms as he planned.

Blake groans, the shifting of all of her weight, no matter how careful Dean was being, was excruciating. All of her joints crack and pop as her position is shifted and she can barely pull her arms down from their place over her head, she only manages to do so with great difficulty and even greater pain. She can't move her fingers, and her both of her arms are entirely numb, except for the missing strip of skin along her right forearm. Unfortunately, she can still feel that quite well. She's only lucky that it's not the arm pressed against Dean, but it meant the wound below her ribcage was and it stung something awful.

Blake's head thumps against Dean's shoulder as she exhales slowly, "You came," she murmurs quietly.

"Of course we did," Dean grunts, "you called and needed help."

"Yeah, Blake, even if you hadn't called, we were headed this way anyway. We would've seen your car and stopped," Sam adds, coming to stand next to Dean, Wess at his side.

Blake can only smile, this must've been what it felt like to have someone looking out for you. It was a nearly foreign feeling, since her parents died, there haven't been many people to care about her. Once she got over her initial shock and pigheaded denial, it felt nice.

Content with where her thoughts brought her, Blake wraps her unbroken arm around Dean's neck to hopefully make herself an easier passenger. The action rubs the wound below her ribs, but she ignores it as best she can.

"Alright, so what's next?" Blake rasps, trying to get comfortable in Dean's arms.

"Well, first we should probably get you back to the car and get you cleaned up, then to the hospital," Dean replies, stepping out of the wendigo's lair and into the evening sunlight.

Blake sighs and rests her head against Dean's collar bone, sleep sounded downright godly at this moment.

"Hey, you should probably try to stay awake," Dean says, rousing Blake.

Blake nearly whines at the interruption, "If I was going to die, I would've done it before now," she reasons childishly.

Blake can feel the tiny shrug Dean gives as he purses his lips in thought, "...Carry on, then."

"Dean!" Sam exclaims, "She can't sleep, we don't know if she has any sort of head injury."

"Well, the wendigo knocked me around a bit, yeah, but I don't think it gave me a concussion or anything. I slept for like… ever hanging like that. I don't think it will be a problem now," Blake sleepily informs Sam.

Sam sighs, obviously he lost that argument, "Alright, but I just want to be sure you don't fall into coma," his tone was light, but all of them knew it was a valid concern after a head injury, "so we're going to wake you up every couple of hours, okay?" He asks, though Blake knew it wasn't a question.

Blake smiles gratefully, "I understand… I- uh… Thank you both, for everything. I know I haven't been the most… ah, fun person to deal with. But I'm glad you decided to put up with me…" She mumbles, trailing off as her eyes flutter closed.

Dean laughs under his breath, "She fell asleep," he mutters incredulously.

Sam laughs too, lips quirking in amusement, "Wow, uh, I guess she was really tired," he comments, Wess following at his heels.

"Dude, she was captured by a freaking wendigo… those ain't prime sleeping conditions. Hell, we don't even know how long she was in there, it took us a couple hours to get here after she called us… and you know calling us wasn't her first thought," Dean says, his boots making horrendous crunching noises in the dead foliage as he makes no move to quiet his steps. He's paying more attention to not jostling the snoozing female in his arms.

Sam makes a noncommittal sound of agreement in the back of his throat as he quietly contemplates Dean's words, "You're right… She's not going to like it when we have to wake her to clean her up at the car, though."

"Yeah? Well, I do charity work but I ain't a saint. If even _one drop_ of blood finds its way onto my leather seats, I just might lose it," Dean snorts, his tone playful.

Sam rolls his eyes, "I'm sure you will."

Blake mumbles and twitches in her sleep, surprising the two of them.

"What's she saying?" Sam asks Dean, staring at Blake wearily.

"I dunno," Dean say, leaning his ear closer to Blake's mouth. "…Peaches? I think she just said 'peaches.'"

"Why's she dreaming about peaches?" Sam asks skeptically.

"Don't ask me," Dean mutters, shrugging.

* * *

><p><em>Blake giggles, climbing through the higher branches of the tree with extreme agility. Every once and a while she reaches out and snaps up a round, fuzzy peach and folds it into the crook of her arm. Peering through the branches, her eyes zero in on a form on the ground. Her father is down there, she knows he's been watching her like a hawk to make sure she didn't fall.<em>

"_Do you think I have enough, daddy?" Blake calls, trying to show the man the peaches._

_Her father nods, a rare smile pulling at his lips and warming Blake's heart, "That's plenty, c'mon down. I'm sure your mother will need your help baking them later."_

_Blake nods and easily picks her way down to the bottom, smiling. When she gets to the lowest branch, she leaps to the ground and proudly presents her father the peaches she had picked._

_Her father's lips quirk in a half smile as he ruffles her hair, "We should get out of here," he suggests, digging his keys out of his pocket._

_Blake nods enthusiastically, "We wouldn't want to get caught after we already picked them…" she says, bouncing to the car, her arms full of the peaches she had picked and gathered off the ground._

"_Blake?"_

_Blake turns to look at her father, whose image had started to warp and twist, as if he were just a mirage. "Yeah, daddy?" she asks innocently, smiling wide._

"_I love you."_

Blake gasps loudly, jerking awake and scaring Dean who was still carrying her. Tears sting her eyes, and she stubbornly forces them back. The dream was nice, but some of it had been doctored up by her conscience. Especially the last part. It was still her favorite memory of her father, though. It hurt her chest to think about it too long.

Blake exhales slowly, relieving some of the tension that had built up in her stomach and sags back into a comfortable position.

"Bad dream?" Dean asks conversationally.

Blake smiles fondly, resting her head against his collar bone again. "No… not at all."

"Well you woke up just in time, now we get to play doctor and try to piece humpty dumpty back together again," Dean says, just as Blake notices Sam digging around in the trunk of the Impala, which was parked next to her Grand Am. She liked her car well enough, and it got her from point A to point B without breaking down, but it couldn't hold a candle to the Impala.

Blake pauses and blinks in confusion, what Dean said earlier catching up to her. "Wait, did you just compare me to a giant egg?" She asks.

Dean shrugs innocently, smirking, "And all the king's horses," he jerks his head at Sam, "and all the king's men," he says, clearly referring to himself. [2]

Sam rolls his eyes at Dean, but continues digging through the trunk. Finally he closes the trunk and sets the first aid kit on top of it, circling around the Impala to pull a medium-sized forest green metal ice chest from the backseat.

"Here, she can sit on this," Sam says, putting the ice chest in front of Dean and retrieving the first aid kit.

"Okay, do you think you can sit, Blake?" Dean asks.

Blake nods, "I should be alright."

"Okay, hold on tighter to my neck and I'm going to slowly lower you to the cooler, alright?" Dean slowly explains.

Blake breathes slowly and mentally prepares for the pain that shifting her position will bring, "Okay, I'm ready."

Dean nods, and slowly crouches, carefully transitioning Blake into a more upright position as he goes. Blake groans, chewing on her lip as her joints give horrendous cracks and pops in protest of the movement, but finally, her backside meets the cool metal of the ice chest and Dean slowly pulls his arms from her. She's a little shaky, and her head is still adjusting, but otherwise, she feels good.

Sam crouches in front of her with the first aid and several bottles of water. He cracks one open and hands it to Blake, "Here, I'm sure you're extremely dehydrated."

Blake takes the water from him and drinks greedily, downing half the bottle in a couple gulps, steadily sipping from it after the direst of her thirst is sated.

Sam frowns, "How long were you out there Blake?" He asks in response to seeing her reaction to the water.

Blake sighs happily and clears her throat, "I dunno, it's probably about eight right now… right?" She asks, continuing once Sam nods affirmative after checking his wristwatch. "I got up around 5:20 this morning… so, um, 14 hours or so?"

Dean shakes his head giving Blake a hard, disapproving stare, "So it took you… what? Ten hours to call us?"

Blake shrugs and glances away casually, "I almost didn't," she says with a forced air of nonchalance.

Dean scowls, "Why? Why wouldn't you call us while you were DYING? Are you really that prideful?" He asks, his voice low and gravely.

Blake shrugs, "Well, calling you and then making you carry me to the car did hurt my pride, but that wasn't it."

"Then what was it? Because obviously I don't understand," Dean snaps moodily.

Blake shakes her head, "To be honest? I don't really even know," she murmurs softly, running her fingers over the rope burns on her fractured wrist. She swallows thickly, "I think it was you, Dean… I wanted to give up, but every time I thought about just giving in… I would remember something you said yesterday in the motel room, and it made me try a little harder," she says, her voice a near whisper as she avoids both Winchester's gazes in shame.

"It's not a bad thing to want to live, Blake," Sam explains gently, still crouched in front of her, bandages in hand.

Blake sighs softly, "I guess… but what is there to live for? I'm _tired._" She says quietly, layering a certain tone of emphasis on 'tired,' that the Winchesters both understand it's not the sleepy sort of tired. Blake exhales slowly, her voice gaining strength, "But all I know now is that it's your fault I'm alive right now, Dean… and I don't know whether to thank you or let Wess piss in your shoes."

Dean shoots her a weak glare at the mention of Wess pissing in his shoes, but it has no real anger behind it. "What I think you need is someone to live for, because apparently Wess isn't enough. I have a friend I want you to meet after we go to the hospital and get you patched up a little more… I think he'll do you some good. His name's Bobby." Dean says, using the voice he used on Sammy when he was little, it was firm, yet gentle, but didn't leave any room for arguing.

Blake bites her bottom lip and worries it with her teeth, "I… I don't think so. Thank you again for saving me… but I think I need to… to try to help myself."

"Since when have you not helped yourself? Blake… we just think it'd be a good idea for you to stick with us for a while, you don't have to go to Bobby's," Sam says gently, cracking open another water bottle and setting about flushing her wounds out.

Blake shivers at the cool water, "I don't know, Sam… Don't you two have bigger things to worry about other than me?" She asks skeptically.

"Why wouldn't you be just as important as everything else? We're hunters, we save people. That includes you," Sam says, working to carefully rinse the wound on her arm.

Blake winces, resisting the urge to yank her arm out of his grasp, "I'm a hunter, too. I save people just like you do, which makes me different from most people."

"Yeah, and that also gives us more of a reason to want to help you. If you've spent so long putting your life in the line of danger to save others, don't you think YOU deserve to be saved as well?" Sam argues, finished bandaging the arm with the missing chunk of skin and starting on cleaning up the rope burns on her broken wrist.

"But I'm fine! You two act like you think I'm going to find the nearest bridge and leap. I've been fine so far without you, haven't I?" Blake asks, frowning at Sam.

"No," Dean cuts in, "you haven't. I just carried you out of the lair of a wendigo that was going to EAT YOU. Does that sound fine to you?" He snaps, obviously getting a little frustrated.

Blake's shoulder slump and she tiredly rubs her eyes with the hand Sam's not working on. "Okay, say I actually agree and go with the two of you… What then? What are you going to do with me?"

"We only want you to stay with us for a while, maybe go on a couple hunts. We really just want to make sure you're okay," Sam says, frowning thoughtfully, his eyes bright with concern.

Blake grimaces and looks away, was he using puppy dog eyes on her? Somehow it seemed so unfitting for Sam, who was so large and capable, but at the same time, she couldn't find a facial expression that fit him better. He was really good at it too. His puppy dog eyes were even better than Wess's, and Wess was actually a dog.

"So what? Will I just follow you everywhere you go in my car? How do you think that's going to work?" Blake retorts, doing her best to poke holes in the Winchester's plans.

"You could ride in the Impala," Sam offers, putting a splint on her wrist.

Blake shakes her head, "What about Wess? What would we do with my car?"

Sam frowns, "Wess can ride in the Impala too, right, Dean? And Bobby's isn't too far from here, he would look after your car."

Dean grimaces, obviously not thrilled with the idea of Wess riding in the Impala, "He doesn't shed, right? Do you cut his claws? What if he needs to pee? …He doesn't have fleas, does he?" He asks anxiously, pacing back and forth.

"He sheds but if I brush him every night it shouldn't be bad, I do cut his claws, if he needs to pee he'll bark, and no, he does not have fleas," Blake says, answering all of Dean's questions.

"We can put a blanket over the seats in the back, Dean. Besides, they're leather, they're easy to wipe down," Sam says, trying to argue Dean's fears about Wess away.

"Easy to wipe down? That means you're anticipating accidents!" Dean exclaims, anxiously mussing his hair and beginning to pace faster.

Blake rolls her eyes, "See Sam? I just think it would be better for all of us if we just went our separate ways," she says, expertly masking the flicker of disappointment with annoyance. Wait, disappointment? Was she seriously disappointed? Blake's eyes widen and her breath catches in her throat, the weight of her revelation startling her.

She WAS disappointed. She wants to go with them. But why, she hasn't needed anyone for years. She's been fine all this time, what's changed?

Blake stands abruptly, her fight or flight reflex kicking in, and flight was the winner. Sam blinks up at her, still crouched in front of the cooler. "I-I'm fine. I'm just going to find a motel and patch myself up there," Blake mumbles, her calf screaming and sending fire through her whole leg as she limps pathetically to her car.

"Nuh-uh, I don't think so, sister. You ain't running again," Dean chastises, easily catching up with Blake and scooping her up into his arms, "You run 'cause you're scared." He says matter-of-factly, depositing her back onto the lid of the ice chest.

"So what? Am I a hostage now?" Blake asks sarcastically, even though she's relieved that Dean stopped her. One, because she didn't think she was going to make it to her car without at least falling, and two, the more she thought about going with them, the more she liked the thought.

Blake mentally shakes her head, it must be because she was lonely and latching onto the first humans she could find. How pathetic.

"Yup, for now, you're stuck with us. I'm not going to let you run off while you're bleeding everywhere." Dean says.

Blake grumbles unhappily outwardly, but she still can't help being relieved. The mixed signals are starting to confuse her.

"You can make your decision later, but for now we need to get you cleaned up. Dean's right. We won't let you leave until we're sure you aren't going to die of blood loss," Sam tells Blake firmly, surprising her. She didn't think Sam was capable of being firm. Shows what she knows.

Blake nods and glances to the side uneasily, surrendering, "Alright."

Sam quickly and carefully finishes rinsing and wrapping the rest of Blake's wounds in tense silence, not bothering to try to stitch them because they were going to the hospital anyway. There, the wounds could be professionally stitched and looked after, but they were a couple hours from the closest hospital so they had to be at least bandaged now.

Sam begins neatly repacking their supplies back into the first aid kit, "Do you need to be carried?" He asks Blake once he's done.

Blake sighs in indignation, "No, I can walk," she mutters.

Sam gives her a pointed look, "I'll help you then."

Blake thinks about trying to turn him down, but figures she won't get anywhere by herself. "Okay," she murmurs.

Sam helps her up and wraps his arm around her shoulders, forcing her to lean on him as he helps her hobble to the Impala. Blake stops and gives Sam a weird look, "What about my car?"

"I'll drive it," Sam says, popping the shotgun door open and helping Blake inside.

Blake struggles weakly, "What about Wess?"

"He can ride with me," Sam insists, making sure Blake's comfortable, even though she's still trying to wiggle away.

Blake sighs and gives up, "Okay."

"Good," Sam says, not sounding as smug as Blake figured he would. It was probably because he knew she didn't have a choice in the matter, but she didn't know that.

Blake whistles for Wess, watching as he bounds over to her happily. "Hey buddy," She coos, scratching him behind the ears, "you're gonna ride with Sam, okay? I want you to be good for him, now go get inside the car and be on your best behavior."

Wess wags his tail and barks, loping back around to Blake's little Grand Am.

"Good boy," Blake mutters, yawning as Sam shuts her door and heads to her car.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road, huh, princess?" Dean asks sarcastically, sliding into the driver's seat.

"I'm not a princess," Blake huffs, leaning her head against the cool glass of the window and promptly falling asleep.

Dean quirks an eyebrow at her, "Did she really just…"

Blake snorts a little and begins to mumble, already deep asleep.

Dean shakes his head and starts the Impala, wondering if the sound will wake her up. She doesn't even flinch. "She fell asleep," he mutters, snorting in disbelief.

* * *

><p>"NO!" Blake growls, glaring daggers at the doctor. "You are NOT going to cut skin off of one part of my body and stick it on another!"<p>

The doctor sighs, "Mrs. Bonham, your husband is very worried over the amount of time this wound will take to heal if a skin graft is not applied."

Blake twists around to try and shoot death at Dean with her eyes, who had claimed she was his wife for insurance purposes, "I'm sorry, _doctor,_ but this is my body, not my husbands. And I don't mind how long it will take to heal without a skin graft."

The doctor sighs again, "Okay, Mrs. Bonham, but there isn't much else we can do for it then, because the skin is too far apart for stitches."

"Yes, I understand. Thank you," Blake says, nearly hissing. "When can I be discharged?"

The doctor frowns, "You've received a brace for your arm, and all of your other wounds have been properly treated, so yes, you may leave. But I do not recommend doing so this soon." [3]

"Thank you, but I'll be fine. Can I leave now?" Blake asks impatiently.

The doctor nods, "You'll have to use the wheelchair though."

Blake bites back a groan, "Okay," she twists around to glower at Dean, "Let's. GO."

"Oh, c'mon, honey! You love hospitals! Remember when little Aubrey was born?" Dean asks, grinning wildly as he reaches over to encase one of Blake's hands in his.

Blake glares at him, "Best day of my life," she grits out, wondering when this torture will end.

"She was just so cute, looked just like you, honey," Dean says, reminiscing on fake memories, clearly enjoying Blake's discomfort as he pats the back of her hand.

"I remember, dear," Blake grumbles, wanting nothing more than to yank her hand out of Dean's grasp. "But since I'm _not_ giving birth to our little bundle of joy, I'd rather not be here."

"You sound very upset, Mrs. Bonham," the doctor observes.

Blake gives him a strained smile, "My husband here is just teasing me, he knows I hate being in hospitals. I can leave now, right?"

"Uh, yes, you may. We'll just have to move you into the wheelchair and sign the discharge forms."

"Great," Blake says, hopping off the emergency room bed.

"Mrs. Bonham! You shouldn't be on that leg!" The doctor gasps, trying to guide Blake back onto the bed.

"I'm fine," Blake grunts, shrugging the doctor's hands off.

"Don't worry, Doc. She can be quite stubborn," Dean reassures, sweeping Blake off her feet and dumping her in the wheelchair.

"Oof!" Blake gasps, smacking Dean in the arm angrily. "Be careful, jerk! That hurt!"

The doctor looks appalled, "Mr. Bonham! Your wife is injured, you shouldn't-"

"She's fine," Dean says, interrupting the doctor with a cheeky grin that suggests Blake will very much disagree with the next thing that comes out of his mouth, "she's used to me being rough, right, sweetheart?" He questions, grinning as he winks suggestively at Blake.

Blake smiles sweetly, startling Dean, "That's right! Just as much as you like wearing my lingerie," she chirps, giving Dean a smug smirk.

Dean shoots Blake a dirty look, "We just have to sign the papers at the front desk, right?" he asks the doctor, suddenly much more ready to leave.

The doctor is obviously somewhat put off by Dean and Blake's behavior, "Uh, yes, the nurses should have it ready there."

"Ugh, finally!" Blake sighs. "Let's go," she says, giving Dean a pleading look.

"The nurses should be able to get you a pair of crutches up at the front desk, make sure to ask," The doctor advises.

Dean nods, "Thanks, doc," he mumbles as he wheels Blake out of the room.

The two of them quickly sign the discharge papers and get a pair of crutches, and a sling for her arm, much to Blake's chagrin, at the front desk before Dean wheels Blake out of the hospital.

Blake fondly pats the crutches, "I have a feeling these things will be my best friends."

Dean snorts, "What? You don't like being carried?" He questions, grinning.

"No. Not particularly, you'd be surprised to find," Blake says.

"Could've fooled me. That was three times, wasn't it? Once from that dump of a house with the werewolf, once when I moved you from the floor to the bed, and once from the wendigo's lair, all within a week," Dean points out, smirking.

"Excuse me for being injured," Blake sighs.

"Well, you just happen to be an injury-magnet. Seriously, how have you made it on your own?" Dean questions incredulously.

"I've been fine on my own! Thank you!" Blake indignantly snaps, blushing.

"Not the way I see it. Anyway, we're gonna stay in this town for a day or so then head up to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. That's where Bobby lives, we're gonna drop your car off and after that? Well, who knows." Dean explains, helping Blake out of the wheel chair and onto her crutches.

"Where's Sam?" Blake asks, looking around for him as she wiggles into a comfortable position on her crutches. "Isn't he supposed to be here with the car?"

"Yeah, he is," Dean agrees, also looking for Sam.

"I just wanna sleep," Blake says, trying not to sound as sad and pathetic as she feels.

"There he is! Finally," Dean says as Sam pulls up in the Impala.

Sam hops out and opens the back door for Blake, "Sorry, I wasn't that late, was I?"

"Nah, just about five minutes," Blake says, difficultly crawling into the backseat with her crutches.

"Good, sorry, first I couldn't find a motel, then the line at the fast food place was really long. But the good news is, I got food," Sam says, climbing into shotgun and rummaging through the paper bags in the front seat as Dean gets in the driver's seat and starts the car.

Blake gratefully takes the burger he offers her and immediately rips the paper wrapping off, "Thank you!" She gushes, taking a huge bite of her burger soon after. "Mmm," she hums in delight, happy to have some food after over 24 hours without.

Blake quickly finishes off her burger, not at all hindered by only being able to use one hand, and gives a happy sigh, "That was the best burger I've ever had."

Sam laughs, "Do you want your fries, too?"

"Fries? Yes, please," Blake grins, taking the cardboard container of fries from him and chowing on those just as fast as the burger. "These fries are heavenly," Blake mumbles, eating them by the handful.

"Don't choke," Dean sarcastically advises, watching her in the rearview mirror.

Blake gives him a distracted thumbs up, her mouth full of food. She swallows the last of her fries and washes it down with a gulp of soda, "I almost forgot what food looked like," she says, enjoying the dramatization of her ordeal. "Now all I want to do is sleep… We do have a motel room, right?"

Sam gives her a puzzled look, "You… decided to come with us?"

Blake nods and stretches out over the backseat, yawning, "Yup," she confirms, curling into fetal position and closing her eyes.

"I'm glad you finally agreed," Sam says.

Blake is quiet.

"So what made you change your mind?" Dean asks, his eyes flickering up to the rearview mirror.

Silence.

"Blake?" Sam calls.

"Is she alright?" Dean asks, unable to see her from the rearview mirror because she was lying down.

"I don't know," Sam mutters, leaning over the seats to check on Blake.

"…So?" Dean asks impatiently after a couple moments of silence.

"I think she's asleep," Sam replies uncertainly.

Blake snorts and instinctively covers her face with her braced arm, soft snores echoing from her.

"Yeah, she's definitely asleep," Sam confirms, twisting back around to the front of the car.

Dean laughs, shaking his head, "She did the same thing earlier," he says incredulously.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, as soon as I got in the car, she conked out and slept like a log," Dean answers.

"Wow… either the whole ordeal tired her out more than she's willing to admit, or she's narcoleptic," Sam remarks.

Dean laughs, "Maybe she was fibbing about being a light sleeper back in the city with the werewolf," he says, pulling the Impala into the motel parking lot.

"Maybe," Sam agrees, climbing out of the Impala once it was parked.

"Okay, so are we gonna wake her up or carry her?" Dean asks, also clambering out of the Impala. The only thing they needed to take inside was Blake; Sam had taken all of their things inside when he checked in.

"We don't have to wake her up, I'll get her," Sam volunteers.

"Nah, I got her," Dean says, "just go open the door for me, will ya?"

Sam cocks an amused eyebrow at his brother, "Sure," he says, smirking a little as he opens the door.

"What?" Dean asks in response to Sam's apparent amusement.

"Nothing, nothing," Sam says, holding his hands up innocently.

Dean shoots Sam a withering glare as he picks Blake up off the Impala's backseat, carrying her bridal-style into the motel room.

"It's just that…" Sam begins, trailing off purposefully to garner suspense as he closes the door behind Dean and Blake.

"What?" Dean snaps, becoming irritated and placing Blake's slumbering form on the closest bed.

"You seem a little soft on her, Dean," Sam points out, laughing under his breath.

"What? Am not! That's crazy talk, Sam," Dean gruffly defends himself, peeling Blake's shoes and socks off to make her more comfortable before covering her with the top blanket.

"Sure, sure," Sam snickers, pulling the blankets back on his bed to get ready to go to sleep. "The way I see it, you've got three choices. Choice number one, sleep in the bed with Blake and see what happens in the morning when she wakes up to your face. Choice number two, share a bed with me and risk having her think we're gay AND incestuous. Last but not least, choice number three, sleep on the floor," Sam smugly explains, kicking his boots off and shimmying out of his pants, leaving him in only boxers.

Dean sighs angrily and yanks the closet door open, grabbing the extra bedding stashed there to make himself a pallet on the ground. "Bitch," he grumbles.

Sam laughs, "Jerk."

* * *

><p>AN: Okay, just a couple footnotes in this chapter that I wanted to explain.

[1] - The gunshot sound was a flare gun.

[2] - This is from the nursery rhyme, 'Humpty Dumpty.' Just in case any one was confused, Humpty Dumpty is also usually pictured as a large egg. I'm not sure why...

_Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,_

_Humpty Dumpty had a great fall;_

_All the king's horses and all the king's men_

_Couldn't put Humpty together again._

[3] - I have no idea if any of this is accurate about hospitals. I researched, but research can't always explain everything to someone who understands little about hospitals. I sincerely apologize if anything is horrifically incorrect!

And lastly, I love you all and thank you for reading! *heart*

EDIT: Haha, so I totally forgot that the wendigo broke Blake's wrist last chapter. What a fail on my part, I know. This chapter has been altered to reflect that accordingly. Thanks~


	5. Mishap

**THIS CHAPTER IS PURE FILLER. THERE WAS A POINT TO IT AT SOME TIME, BUT THAT POINT WILL HAVE TO BE PICKED UP LATER. THE NOTE BELOW EXPLAINS WHY.**

Hey guys, I just want to say, I am SO, SO sorry. Other than just being late, this chapter is not even half the length of the shortest previous chapter. It's because I've been having a very... rough time this last month or so. I can't write at all lately. So on top of being late and short as hell, its probably very bad quality and poorly edited. I'm sorry to say, but this might be the last update for a long while. Until things get sorted out and I'm happy enough to continue writing, Rabbit might have to be put on a hiatus. I only write when I'm happy, and I haven't been happy for a long time. Recently, I've even thought of giving up on it completely. Not just giving up on Rabbit, but everything related to writing. This is a big deal for me, because for the longest time, all I've wanted is to become a professional writer.

I hope you understand when I say giving up is the last thing I want to do. But please be patient with me for now. I love you all and thank you so much for reading this! I sincerely hope you enjoy this short chapter of questionable quality.

* * *

><p>Blake lounges in the back seat of the Impala, Wess lying next to her. She, Dean, and Sam had already dropped her car off at their friend, Bobby's. Bobby was… quite the character for sure. Blake definitely liked him.<p>

"So where are we headed?" Blake asks, nudging Wess into the floorboards so she could stretch out to the fullest in the backseat.

"It's not much but Bobby had a job for us in Texas, he says it's a chupacabra,"Sam replies, flipping through a manila folder. "It seems to have moved onto humans recently, he wants us to track it down."

"…Oh, that sounds exciting," Blake says, leaning over the seat to glance over the files in Sam's lap.

"And you're still injured," Dean points out, eying her skeptically in the rearview mirror.

"Just barely…" Blake mutters defiantly, twirling her fingers into her hair. She had taken it down after the wendigo incident and hasn't been able to get it back into a pony because of her broken wrist.

"I don't think it would be a good idea for you to do any of the hunting," Dean says, giving her a sharp look through the rearview mirror.

Blake sighs and waves him off, "If you say so."

Dean quirks an eyebrow, surprised at her lack of resistance. Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, he shrugs and grins, happy to have won so easily.

Blake rolls her eyes at his obvious joy, "I'm not stupid. I know I'm in no condition to be hunting, if I went, you two would probably have to cover for me and because of that you'd be distracted. I know what happens to hunters who are distracted…" Blake says quietly, resisting the urge to avert her eyes as she fiddles with the straps to her brace.

Dean shoots Sam a questioning look. What was with her sudden doom and gloom?

Sam returns his glance with the tiniest of shrugs. He didn't know either, but he definitely noticed.

Dean's eyes flick up to the rearview mirror to look at Blake, oh good. She wasn't looking. Giving Sam a meaningful look, he jerks his head at Blake. "Talk to her!" He mouths at Sam.

Sam's eyes widen and he gives Dean a look that clearly suggested Dean was off his rocker. "No, you do it!" Sam mouths back, his eyebrows furrowed.

Blake rolls her eyes, for hunters, they weren't very subtle. But she found that it was strangely endearing. "I'm hungry," she announces, interrupting the brothers' 'silent' conversation.

Both Winchesters jump a little at her sudden outburst. "We'll stop at the next place we see," Dean says in a placating manner.

"Awesome," Blake says, stretching back out over the seats.

"We just had breakfast like two hours ago," Sam deadpans.

Dean grins, "Majority rules, Sammy," he says smugly, reaching over and flicking the radio on.

* * *

><p>"Finally!" Blake cheers at the sight of the upcoming town, immediately grabbing one of her bags and digging through it. She pulls a special red harness out of the bag and pats the blanket on the seat next to her as a signal for Wess to climb on up. Once he does so she slides the harness over his head and buckles it around his chest.<p>

"Good boy," she coos, scratching his chin.

Sam turns around in his seat, watching her curiously. "What is that?" He questions, referring to the harness.

"It's a service dog harness. With this, he gets entrance to basically anywhere and people usually don't even have the guts to question it," Blake explains, grinning.

Sam laughs, "So it's basically like a fake ID, only for dogs, right?" He asks, not sure whether to be amused or impressed.

"Yup! If anyone asks, I usually tell them he's my seizure detection dog," Blake says, grinning mischievously.

"There's such a thing?" Dean asks skeptically.

"Yeah, it's the only lie I figured I could get away with easily… Most people don't even really know about seizure detection dogs, it makes it easier." Blake says while trying to pull her sock on the foot of her injured leg. It was harder than it sounded, because when she leaned over, it made the wound on her ribs pulse in agony, along with the slightly healed but still tender werewolf wounds. On the flip side, if she just pulled her knee up to her chest, it would probably burst the stitches in her calf. Not to mention that one of her arms was in a brace and it hurt to move her fingers, and the other arm had a strip of skin missing from it.

Sam watches her struggle for a few moments, "You can ask for help, you know," he tells her, frowning.

Blake's cheeks burn in indignation, it hadn't even occurred to her that they could help her. She averts her eyes from Sam's, "I'm fine," she mutters.

"No. You're not fine, you can't even pull your socks on, just let Sam help you," Dean says, though it sounds more like a command, making Blake blush harder. She didn't know that both of them saw her struggling, they probably thought she was pathetic.

"Never mind, that foot doesn't need a sock, I have to use my crutches anyway…" Blake mutters, quickly pulling her sock onto her other foot and jamming it into her boot without unlacing it.

Dean sighs and shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. How could one woman be so stubborn?

"Let's go there," Blake blurts, pointing at the upcoming truck stop and diner, desperate for a distraction.

Sam and Dean exchange glances, shrugging, "Sure why not?" Dean sighs, guiding the Impala into the parking lot.

Blake clicks a leash onto Wess's harness and pops the door open, gesturing for Wess to get out before her. Wess jumps out and Blake is climbing out after him when Sam sighs, drawing her eyes to him.

"Blake, let me help you," Sam says firmly.

Blake's head dips in embarrassment and her hair falls over her shoulders, shielding her crimson cheeks from view, "No! No… I'm okay, I can do it on my own," she mutters, grabbing her crutches off the floorboard.

With her hair obscuring her vision, Blake doesn't notice Dean walking around to the passenger side of the Impala.

"Grab the crutches, Sam."

Sam reaches over and gently tugs the crutches out of Blake's grasp, taking a couple steps back to stop her from trying to get them back from him.

Blake's head snaps up, and she begins to protest, "Hey, I need-" at this point, Dean leans in the car and scoops her up, stunning her into silence.

"Some people won't give permission to let you help them, but you do so anyway, right, Blake?" Dean asks as Sam helps him situate Blake on her crutches. He was trying to make a point and coerce Blake into being less difficult. It wasn't going to work.

"No," Blake grumbles, wiggling awkwardly on the crutches. "It's a violation of their rights. If they want to keep from being manhandled every time they have to get out of a car, well, I'd say more power to them!"

"I don't 'manhandle' you," Dean scoffs, sticking his hands into his pockets.

"Oh, yeah? Then what do you call it?" Blake asks dryly, smacking Dean in the shin with one of her crutches on 'accident' as she passes him to enter the diner, Wess trotting after her.

Dean shoots a dirty glare at her back and vengefully rubs his abused shin, "I call it helping those who don't know how to help themselves," he mutters. Blake pretends not to hear. Sam laughs and follows the two of them into the restaurant, smirking in amusement at Blake and Dean's bickering. He was just glad Dean now had someone to bicker with other than him.

Blake picks a booth off to the side and slides in with minimal difficulty, flashing Dean a smug, triumphant smile as she situates her crutches next to her.

Dean rolls his eyes and slides in the booth, grabbing a menu off the table and flicking it open with a flair for the dramatic.

About an hour later, Blake wiggles on the fake leather seats of the booth, scouring the inside of the restaurant with her eyes. They had just eaten and now she really needed to use the bathroom. Where were the bathrooms? Every restaurant had to have bathrooms, who in their right mind would make one without?

Getting impatient, Blake calls one of the waitresses over, "Excuse me ma'am, where are your bathrooms?"

The waitress smiles, or tries, Blake couldn't really tell through all the layers of makeup, "They're outside near where the trucks park, hold on one sec and I'll grab the key for ya, sweetie." The waitress says, leaving to get the key from behind the counter.

"Why would they put bathrooms on the outside?" Blake grumbles, yanking up her crutches and sliding out of the booth.

"Do you… need help?" Sam asks awkwardly, looking extremely uncomfortable.

Blake sighs, her head hanging in shame. "No."

To his credit, Sam doesn't show how relieved he feels. "If you're, uh, if you're sure."

"I'm sure," Blake says to reassure him, waiting impatiently for the waitress to return.

Dean is obviously less than confident with her ability to go to the bathroom by herself, "Just don't die," he says, teasing her.

Blake scowls heartily at him, "I'm going to the bathroom, not to war, sheezus," she mumbles, snatching the key out of the waitress's hand as soon as the woman returns. If she weren't on crutches, she'd be stomping as she left.

Blake returns ten minutes later, her clothes disheveled and her face red.

"Blake! What happened?" Sam asks, startled at her appearance.

"Nothing!" Blake yelps, her face glowing brighter in embarrassment as she accidentally steps on Wess's tail. Wess yelps and skitters away, leaving Blake to apologize profusely.

Dean arches an eyebrow and frowns skeptically, "Nothing happened? Nothing happened and that's why most of the buttons on your shirt are undone?"

Blake glares at him, somewhat recovering, "Yes! Exactly, I'm glad you understand!" she snaps, taking a seat at the booth once more.

"Blake… did something happen in the bathroom?" Sam asks calmly, his eyes shining with concern.

"Noooo," Blake moans, her head thumping onto the table. "If I tell you, you won't let me use the bathroom by myself anymore," she whines, extremely embarrassed.

"Oh, now I really wanna know," Dean says, watching Blake closely.

Blake begins mumbling near unintelligibly into the table, her chocolaty brown hair fanned out around her face.

"Wait, so a dirty truck driver followed you into the bathroom?" Sam exclaims, staring at Blake in unabashed shock.

Dean shoots Sam a look that clearly suggested he thought Sam was crazy, "Dude, how the hell'd you understand that?"

"Yessss," Blake whines pathetically.

"Did he… hurt you?" Sam asks hesitantly, using 'hurt' as a blanket term.

"No… just popped a few of the buttons on my shirt. He was going to do more until I bashed him upside the skull with my crutch… I think we should find somewhere else to eat," Blake suggests, her face still burning in shame. She absolutely loathed looking weak, and these crutches were basically a neon sign that said, "Hey! Look at me, I did something stupid and now I have to use crutches for my basic locomotion, I probably won't even be able to fight back if you try to kidnap me." Which is just what almost happened a couple minutes earlier, ironically.

"Did you… knock him out?" Sam asks.

"Yup, then I left his nasty perverted old man body on the ground... which is why we should probably leave," Blake says, wiggling out of the booth.

Dean shakes his head, laughing in combined disbelief and amusement at her situation, "You're right about one thing, you are never going to the bathroom alone again. Every time I let you out of my sight, you manage to get into some sort of trouble. Seriously, wendigos? Nasty old truck drivers? What is it about you that makes things want to kidnap you?"

Blake grumbles, shooting Dean the dirtiest look she could muster, "It must be my charming personality," she growls sarcastically, dismayed at the thought of not being able to go to the bathroom by herself again.

A few moments later as they arrive at the Impala, Blake realizes something. "I didn't even get to pee!" She whines sadly, wiggling awkwardly due to the pressure in her bladder.

Dean gets a hearty chuckle at her expense, coming around to her side of the Impala to help her into the car. By this time, Blake expects to swept off her feet and manhandled, so she hands off her crutches to Sam and reluctantly complies with Dean's choice method of getting her in and out of the car.

Dean situates her on the leather seats and shuts the door, going around to the other side of the Impala and opening the door for Wess to hop in. Blake scratches Wess behind his ears after he gets in, apologizing once more for stepping on his tail in the restaurant. Wess is not placated. He huffs and turns his head away from her, covering his nose with his tail.

Blake rolls her eyes playfully, "I said I was sorry."

Wess flicks his tail angrily, like an irritated cat. His intended meaning is loud and clear, 'Apology not accepted.'

"You'll get over it at dinner time when I'm the one feeding you," Blake says, and at the words, 'dinner time,' Wess's ears perk up and he crawls forward on his belly to lay his head on Blake's knee.

"That's what I thought," Blake snickers, laying a hand on Wess's head and stroking his ears.


	6. Mishap (cont)

A/N

Hey guys! Long time no see, huh? I'm sorry! I really am, this last chapter has been really hard for me to write, for whatever reason. I know that's just an excuse, but I'm back! I hope you enjoy the chapter, it's got quite a bit of action in it. Of course, it's the second part to the incomplete chapter I put up back in... what, March? So it's not as long as I would like it to be. But I'm hoping that something's better than nothing! Oh! Go check out my profile for the link to some fanart of Blake! My friend did it, so send her some gratitude! She's what made me stop being lazy and write this chapter, haha.

Without further adieu, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

><p>Blake sighs and crosses her arms behind her head, staring blankly up at the roof of the Impala while remembering her earlier conversation with Dean. It was about whether or not she could go on the hunt for the chupacabra. Of course, she had been kidding and being antagonistic, but she got a response she wasn't quite expecting and didn't want to back out of it.<p>

"_What?" Blake gasped after Dean said no to letting her help on the case. She clutched at her heart dramatically, as if it was paining her. "I can't even wait in the car?!"_

_She was being sarcastic and didn't expect a reply, so imagined her surprise when Dean shrugged and said, "Sure, I don't see why not."_

She didn't _really_ want to wait in the car while Sam and Dean traipsed around in the forest trying to find a stupid goat sucker [1], but she didn't know how to back out and stay at the motel after the dramatics without hurting her pride. So she went with them.

Just to wait in the car.

It's been hours.

It's roughly two o'clock in the morning and she's waiting on the side of the road in the Impala. She's in her usual position for the backseat, Wess on the floorboards while she selfishly stretches out across what's supposed to be seating for three people. Wess doesn't seem to mind though, and instead chews diligently at a rawhide bone Blake gave him a couple hours ago.

Blake laughs deviously and plucks the rawhide bone right out of Wess's mouth before popping the car door open and crawling out, "Let's play, Wess!" She exclaims, waiting for her ever faithful canine companion to bound out of the car and play an invigorating round of fetch with her.

But no, instead he just looks heartbroken and confused at the loss of his bone.

"You little turd," Blake grumbles. "When you want to play fetch I humor you, why can't you so the same for me?" She asks playfully, waving the bone enticingly.

Wess's ears perk and he leaps out of the car, causing Blake to quirk an eyebrow, "What is it? Are the boys back?" She asks, alerted by his body language.

Wess's ears fold back to lay flat against his skull as rolling growls fall from his snarling lips. "Oh, well, maybe not," Blake mumbles, habitually reaching for the hidden gun she usually has on her, only to panic when she remembers that she left it at the hotel. Goose bumps erupt along her forearms, a cold feeling washing through her insides as she tries to calm down and clear her head. It's hard because she knows Wess doesn't react this way usually, and when he does, danger always follows it.

Blake opens the driver side door to the Impala, looking for a button to pop the trunk, but it's too dark and she can't see anything. Her hand flies up to the ignition, praying that Dean left the keys. She needs to get into the trunk, she needs a weapon. But of course, Dean took the keys. He definitely wouldn't trust Blake alone with the keys to the Impala. She fights back a frustrated hiss and crawls frantically across the front seat to root around in the glove compartment. She'd give a finger if it meant finding a machete, or even better, a gun, but a gun won't slice her finger off if she accidentally found with her hand instead of her eyes. Her fingers brush cool metal and a rush of excitement sweeps through her. It's a gun!

Blake climbs out of the car and slides the magazine of the gun open, finding it to be fully loaded. More confident than before, she laughs, a wide smile flitting across her lips. "Alright, come out, ugly!" She calls, Wess snarling in agreement. It only takes a few moments, but soon the harsh screeching of the chupacabra echoes through the forest. Blake spreads her feet apart and readies the gun; Wess stands obediently at her side, his entire body tensed in preparation.

The chupacabra charges forth from the protective shadows of the trees, and Blake is shocked at its size. It's nearly twice the size of normal chupacabras, it's no surprise that's it's been attacking humans, goats must not be satisfying it anymore. She levels her gun on it and shoots. A bullet lodges into its shoulder, but it barely flinches, continuing on its path straight for Blake. She curses and shoots again before throwing herself out of the way, rolling to absorb the impact and using her momentum to leap to her feet.

The chupacabra slides to a stop and Blake seizes this opportunity to fire off several more shots. She hits the chupacabra in the chest and ribs, but it's still not slowing down. The chupacabra gives a loud piercing scream, strings of saliva flying from its mouth, and lunges straight for Blake, claws extended.

Blake's eyes widen and she takes a step back, but the heel of her boot catches on a rock. She goes down, her back slamming into the rocky ground. The impact jars the gun out of her hands, but not before another shot goes off. At the last second, she throws her arms up to protect her face and chest, the chupacabra falling upon her.

Blake lies stunned for a couple seconds, the entire weight of the chupacabra braced on her arms. But it's not moving. Blood and saliva drips onto her face from its open maw, its glassy eyes staring blankly down at her. It's dead.

Blake angrily shoves the corpse off of her, trying desperately to regain her breath and figure out what caused the chupacabra to die mid-flight.

After a few moments, Wess comes sniffing along and by then Blake has regained most of her breath. He pokes his nose into her hand and she blindly pets him, not quite wanting to open her eyes. He must've bolted as soon as the chupacabra showed. "Good boy," she praises, gagging as some of the chupacabras blood falls into her mouth.

"Oh, that's awful!" she gasps, flipping onto her hands and knees to attempt to spit the taste out. It doesn't work well and she soon resorts to scrubbing her tongue on the inside of her shirt, enjoying the taste of sweaty fabric far more than that of chupacabra.

"Blake? What are you doing?"

Blake's head snaps around just in time to watch Sam and Dean trudge forth from the tree line. She frowns and pushes herself off the ground, "What does it look like I'm doing?! I'm looking at the damned rocks, I need more for my collection!" She snaps, wildly gesturing to the dead chupacabra as she stomps in the direction of the Impala. Too wildly. "Ow…" she murmurs, wincing as her wild gesturing painfully flexed her sore back.

"Did you… Did you just kill that chupacabra?" Sam asks hesitantly.

Blake shoots him a dirty look, though it lacked any real venom, "No, we had tea," she says bluntly, leaning her forehead against the cool metal of the Impala.

"Damn it!" Dean spits, kicking at the rocks.

"What, are you angry that the cripple got to your kill before you?" She asks tauntingly, waving the arm with the brace on it.

"No, I'm angry because we just killed a chupacabra ten minutes ago! Do you know what that means?" Dean asks, though he doesn't give her the chance to answer. "BABIES! There are probably mini chupacabras running around somewhere!"

Blake shrugs, "Well… you have fun with that. I'm going to take a nap," she says, pulling the backseat door open.

"Hey! Watch the chupacabra blood on my upholstery!" Dean yells just as she's getting ready to climb in.

Blake glowers at him before making a show of yanking her shirt off and wiping her face on it before chunking it at Dean. "I hope you're happy, now I'm going to stick to the leather," she complains.

"Blake, what happened to your back?" Sam asks, wincing in sympathy as he sees the beginnings of an angry purple bruise blossoming across her shoulders.

"The chupacabra threw me on my ass," she replies bluntly, crawling into the backseat.

"Wait… do you think Wess could track down the den?" Dean asks, staring at the canine in question.

Blake dramatically flops down on the seat, "I don't know, I haven't trained him for chupacabras. Besides, if there were two of them, their scents are probably all over the forest. There's no telling whether it'll lead to the den or in the opposite direction," she answers, folding her arms under her head to use as a pillow.

"Can we try it anyway?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, sure, just bring him back in the same condition he left in," she says nonchalantly, closing her eyes.

Sam and Dean share a look, each just as confused as the other on how to use Wess to track anything. "Uh, could you help us?" Sam asks.

"C'mon, get your lazy butt up and help us, sugar!" Dean yells tauntingly.

"But I'm shirtless!" Blake yells back.

"There are extras in the trunk if you're really that worried, but it's not anything we haven't already seen," Dean replies, snorting smugly.

"They'll probably just die on their own without their mother!" Blake shouts back, not even bothering to get offended at Dean's words.

"And if they don't die?" Dean asks, seeming to be antagonistic on purpose.

"…But I'm crippled!" She says as a last resort, throwing her arms into the air dramatically as if to prove her point.

"You just shot down a chupacabra, you won't die from a little walking," Dean mocks. "I can carry you, though, if you insist!" He adds as an eager after thought.

"Stop poking holes in my excuses!" Blake yells, crawling pathetically out of the Impala. Sighing, she straightens herself and circles the Impala to yank the trunk door open. She grabs the first snatch of cloth she sees and jerks it on over her head. It smells strongly of grease and dirt, it's riddled with small holes and it's much too big. For a moment, she almost thinks putting the shirt covered in chupacabra blood would be cleaner. But a shirt's a shirt and it doesn't matter when she's traipsing around a forest with two dudes who are also well acquainted with the smell of filth.

Newly clothed, Blake trudges over to the chupacabra corpse. "Wess!" She calls, pointing at the chupacabra. Wess trots over and sniffs the chupacabra, pressing his nose to it. Once he has the scent, he sit on his haunches and stares curiously at Blake. She exhales slowly and rubs a hand down her face, not exactly looking forward to chasing Wess all over the forest, "Track," she commands. Wess barks before following the path the chupacabra made through the clearing.

Blake follows closely after him, turning to look back at the Winchesters. "Well? Are you coming?" she asks.

Dean cocks an eyebrow and jogs to catch up, Sam close behind.

* * *

><p>A couple hours later and they've followed Wess across the forest twice, still no sign of baby chupacabras. It's taken a real toll on Blake, whose leg aches powerfully with every step. The three gashes in her calf still aren't completely healed and she's technically still supposed to be on crutches. She almost wishes she had them with her. But there's no way she's going to complain about it. It's her fault anyway, and it's not like there's anything Sam or Dean could do. Well, except let her hitch a ride on one of them. But that's not going to happen, she still has her pride to think about.<p>

Blake sighs and rubs her eyes, struggling to catch up with Wess. To Wess it didn't matter if there were low hanging branches, he didn't care that it wasn't quite as easy for Blake to crawl through the same bush he did. He just went where the scent took him. Blake hisses in pain, grabbing her shoulder where a particularly sharp branch just scratched her. Angrily, she grabs the thin branch and snaps it, leaving it to hang limply. It shouldn't have got in her way!

After pushing through yet another wall of foliage that Wess simply crawled under, Blake sees the thing she's been waiting all night for. Wess waits patiently next to a large rotted log, the gaping mouth of a den presiding under it.

"Finally," Blake grumbles, getting on her knees to see if she can look into the den. Using her arms, she lowers herself until her check is almost touching the ground, but she still can't see anything. "Did either of you two think to bring a flashlight?" she asks as Sam and Dean's footsteps came to a halt behind her.

"Here," Sam says as he presses the cold metal flashlight into Blake's fingers. She fumbles with it for a moment before clicking it on, the bright beam of light piercing straight into the den, illuminating what looks to be three little chupacabras.

"There's definitely chupacabras in there," Blake confirms, watching as the strong beam of light rouses them from their slumber. "Now what?" she asks, sitting up to look at Sam and Dean.

"Oh… I dunno, we kill them?" Dean asks sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Blake scoffs and stands up, brushing the dirt off her hands, "Yeah, so shoot 'em already."

"What? You were the one just looking at them, why don't YOU shoot them!" Dean grumbles.

Blake holds a hand out expectantly, giving Dean a pointed look.

"What?" Dean asks, backing up suspiciously, as if Blake's going to cause him some sort of physical harm.

"Your gun," Blake demands, glowering at him.

"What? No! I'm not giving you my gun," Dean exclaims defensively, looking at Blake like she'd just started vomiting rainbows.

Blake pinches the bridge of her nose and exhales slowly, a nasty headache coming on, "Sam, will you please shoot them or let me borrow your gun?" She asks, deciding to ignore Dean for the moment.

"Uh, I'll do it," Sam awkwardly volunteers, crouching down to peer into the den. Blake wordlessly passes him the flashlight. She's secretly glad Sam volunteered, she would've killed them without hesitation, but she's still saddened by the fact that they have to be killed so early in their life.

Groaning quietly, Blake takes a heavy seat on the ground and rubs her calf, flinching when her fingers brush over her still tender wounds.

"Aren't you supposed to be on crutches?" Dean asks suspiciously, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Nope," Blake denies, outright lying. Of course she's still supposed to be on crutches.

"Does your leg hurt?" Dean asks, his tone suggesting he already knows the answer.

"Not at all," Blake denies immediately, her hands falling away from her calf.

"Liar," Dean accuses. "'No, of course I don't need crutches,'" he says in a high-pitched voice, imitating Blake. "'What? No, my leg doesn't hurt at all,'" he says in the same voice as before. "That's crap and you know it," he grunts, switching back to his usual husky voice.

Blake's face burns with embarrassment, and a healthy dose of anger, her lips twisting into a snarl. As she opens her mouth to reply, three shots crack through the air, interrupting whatever scathing remark she had planned.

"Can we leave now?" Sam asks abruptly, standing up and dusting debris from his pants.

Blake shoves herself off the ground, "To the car, Wess," she snaps, inadvertently taking her anger out on her poor companion. Wess's ears prick up before he barks and bounds off through the trees the same way they came, Blake stamping after him, and the Winchesters after her. She's pretty angry at Dean, but she isn't sure whether it's because he mocked her or because he saw through her lies so easily.

"Just who does that jerk think he is?" Blake complains quietly, kicking at a pile of dead leaves.

"I can hear you! You're like two feet in front of me!" Dean exclaims.

"Oh, _sorry,_" Blake hisses, sending him dark look over her shoulder. "Just who does that jerk think he is?!" She hollers loudly, flinging her arms out to the sides. "If that asshole already knew, why would he even ask if I still needed my crutches?!" She nearly screams, hardly able to keep from smiling once she hears Dean's frustrated growl. "And how the hell would he know whether or not my leg still hurts?! I thought I was the judge of that!"

"Um… but you're limping, Blake," Sam points out uneasily.

Blake crosses her arms and gives Sam a pissy glare, "Your logic is not accepted here."

Sam holds his hands up innocently, retreating from the rather one sided argument. Dean snorts loudly and elbows Sam in the ribs, "Apparently no one's logic is accepted."

"I will have no smart ass remarks or I swear I WILL TURN THIS DOG AROUND AND YOU CAN FIND YOUR OWN WAY BACK!" Blake threatens, pointing sternly at Dean. She manages to keep a straight face only long enough to whirl back around and start laughing, ruining the entire effect.

Once the last of her giggles fade, Blake sighs and rubs her eyes. "I want to go to bed," she murmurs, nearly tripping over a tree root.

"Are you sure you should be walking on that leg?" Sam asks, turning the conversation away from her previous outburst.

"It's fine, we're probably almost to the car anyway," Blake mumbles, trying to shrug off Sam's concern.

"No we're not," Dean states. "We're probably nowhere near the car, you just don't want help. You want to do things the hard way."

Blake's hair stands on end and she tightens her fingers into a fist, whirling around to face Dean, "So what?! So what if I want to do things the hard way, HUH?! I'm sorry I don't fall apart every time something happens and run to you! I don't know what kind of women you've been around, but I don't need your protection 24/7! And I _don't_ need to be carried every damned place we go!"

"Why are you so stubborn?! All Sam and I have ever done is try to help you!" Dean barks, his face inching closer to Blake and a lovely flush of anger appearing on his cheeks.

"I'm stubborn because I have to be! I can't afford to give up easily and I can't afford to get used to being helped all the time!" Blake yells, staring straight into Dean's eyes, making a mental note of the freckles she's never noticed before on the bridge of his nose.

"THAT'S what all the stubbornness is about?! You're being so stubborn because of that?! That's ridiculous!" Dean snaps, his breath washing over Blake's face.

"Oh, I understand! Just because I'm not at your feet begging to be helped, I'm being ridiculous," Blake says, shaking her head and snorting at the absurdity. "It's not ridiculous. Because you know what? No matter how hard you and Sam try to pretend otherwise, I'm just a head case you picked up off the street out of pity. You saw a poor little girl who was just a tiny bit sad, and you decided it was your God-given duty to protect me from myself. I don't need protecting, and I don't need your pity." Feeling as if she's procured the last word in the argument, she turns on her heel and casually strolls after Wess, who had noticed he no longer had a trail of people behind him and stopped.

"That's not true Blake," Sam mutters, deciding to put his own two cents into the argument.

Blake ignores him and instead picks up another point to her side of the fight, "And do you know where I'll eventually end up? Hunting, just like I did before you came. I'll be alone again, and then what good will staying with you for a month or two do for me?" Blake shakes her head and continues to follow Wess.

The rest of the walk to the Impala is silent.

* * *

><p>END NOTE<p>

[1] – 'Goat sucker' is the literal English translation of 'chupacabra.' Interesting, I know.


	7. Reckless

Hey guys! I know it's been awhile, but I had a really hard time writing this chapter for some reason. So if it feels a little off, I sincerely apologize. Just wanted to say thank you for sticking with me though! Special thanks to mcgonagiggles! She's one of the reasons this update didn't take nearly eight months like the last one did... I mean, it did take awhile, but not eight months. Progress is still progress! Hopefully next time will take an even shorter amount of time! She also looked over it for me, so thanks again!

Also, I'm in the process of writing another fic. This one's for The Walking Dead and I'm hoping to get it out within a week or two, so if you're a fan of Daryl I'd be super honored if you would take a look at it once it's posted. It's going to be called, 'Rotten Sunshine.' Thanks so much!

As always, I hope you enjoy and have a happy read!

* * *

><p>It's been nearly a month since the wendigo incident and Blake's injuries are nothing but scars now. She and the Winchesters have fallen into an odd dynamic that revolves around bickering and finding any possible way to weasel out of weapon cleaning duty. For the most part, Blake has managed not to have any more melt downs and at the same time preserve the majority of her dignity. It's a challenge, with a particular 'quirk,' she has, though.<p>

Freshly showered and clothed, Blake stands in front of the foggy mirror, lazily brushing her teeth. The door to the motel opens and closes, sending a chilly draft into the bathroom and causing the already open door to swing open a little wider. She casts a sideways glance to the entrance, watching Dean come in with a bag of food. Dean meets her eyes and arches an eyebrow at her.

"Did you just shower?" he asks, setting the bag on the motel room table along with his keys.

Blake nods, her toothbrush hanging precariously on her lip, and then sarcastically motions to the towel piled on top of her head like a turban.

"With the door open?" Dean asks slowly, giving her and Sam a weird look.

"No," Sam answers distractedly, typing something on his laptop. "It blew open when you opened the door."

Dean rolls his eyes, "Why do you shower with the door open anyway? If you were in the middle of changing that hobo in the parking lot would have gotten an eye full."

"It's not just showering, she does everything with the door cracked," Sam adds, still messing with his laptop.

Blake shrugs, feeling rather ganged up on. She spits the frothy toothpaste in the sink, "Oh, sorry, I didn't know trusting the two of you not to peek on me was a bad thing. I'll definitely try to stop that," she says drily. "Besides, what would it matter to you if the hobo got a look?"

"You give a dog a bone and they want some belly rubs!" Dean exclaims, causing Wess's ears to perk up immediately. Sensing the chance to get attention, he circles the room, nudging everyone's hands until Sam takes pity on him and scratches his ears briefly.

"Nice analogy," Blake snorts. "What, are you scared of some horny hobo?"

Dean shoots her a dirty look and begins digging though the food bag, drawing out a burger. "Whatever, don't come crying to me when hobos start following you like a bunch of alley cats."

"Ohhh, sorry, but that's not going to happen. Wess hates dirty old men _just_ as much as he hates cats, isn't that right, baby?" Blake replies, crouching down and calling Wess over so she can scratch his ears and chin. Wess's tail thumps the floor loudly, his eyes closing in contentment.

Dean gives a sharp whistle and Wess's eyes open as he instinctively turns his head. In Dean's hand sits a small chunk of hamburger. It doesn't take a second for Wess to bound across the room and take the chunk of hamburger from Dean. Dean smirks and gives Blake a smug look, over exaggeratedly reaching down to scratch Wess's ears.

Blake scowls and turns back to the mirror. "Oh, well maybe he _does_ like dirty old men."

Dean's about to say something in retaliation, when Sam speaks up loudly, "So the first attack happened two weeks ago on a woman named Lindsey Mick. Her friends say she went home with a man at the bar and was later found in an empty hotel room."

Dean looks a little reluctant to let the verbal battle go, but eventually sighs, "So she's dead?" he asks.

"No, she's in a coma. She was found weak and barely breathing, already in a coma like state," Sam clarifies. "There have been multiple other cases exactly like this, girl leaves with man at the bar and is found the next day, either in a coma, or in a couple cases, dead."

"Do we have a description of the dude?" Dean questions.

"Uh, well, yes and no. Witnesses only have one thing in common, it wears a suit. But the features given are all different, some say it has brown hair, others say blonde. Same thing with the eyes, blue, green, brown, you name it. It even changes race, the witness from the first attack said it was a Caucasian, but the next witness said it was African American."

"Like a shape shifter," Dean states.

"Yeah, but shape shifters don't leave girls in comas," Sam retorts.

"So what do you think we're dealing with?" Blake asks, patting her mouth dry with a towel.

"I think it's an incubus," Sam says, clicking a couple keys on the laptop. "All of the signs are the same. Incubi feed on the life force or essence of whoever they're with, which doesn't always cause the victim to die. Lore says that incubi steal the victim's life while in any acts of intimacy, hugging, kissing, sex, et cetera."

"So we're gonna hit up the bars tonight?" Blake asks, tugging a comb through her thick brown hair.

"It hunts there, so it's our best bet," Sam agrees.

Blake bounces on her toes, "Finally, some action!" She cheers.

Dean shoots her a skeptical look, his eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean some action? Aren't you still injured?"

Blake shakes her head, "Nope, we're all good. D'you wanna see?" She asks, bunching up her shirt before he can even answer. "Look!" She commands, tracing the old werewolf wounds on her abdomen with her finger. It's still a light baby pink from being newly closed, but it's certainly healed. "The rest are healed too," she points out, rolling her pants leg up to show him her calf. "Now you don't have any more excuses to keep me from hunting," she says smugly.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever…" Dean grumbles, dropping into one of the chairs next to the table before taking a huge bite of his hamburger.

Blake beams triumphantly, unrolling her pants leg and cheerfully striding over to the table.

* * *

><p>Blake slides delicately into the booth, she tilts her head and gives the man a wicked smirk as her tousled chocolate locks slide off her shoulder to hang temptingly around her bust. "I presume this seat was empty?" she asks, her voice lowered into a more sensual lilt than normal.<p>

The man is all green eyes and full lips, and when he smirks back, Blake can't help but appreciate the visage a little more than she'd like. "Actually, no, it wasn't. But if you can convince me as to why you should stay, I'll make an exception," he taunts, confidence exuding from the air around him.

The smirk returns full force to Blake's face as she beckons him forward with a slim finger. He leans towards her and she wraps her fingers around his tie to tug him the rest of the way. "There's only one thing I want from you," she breathes, her lips a hairsbreadth away from grazing his ear.

His answering grin is like that of a wolf to a rabbit. He pulls back just enough so that he's looking straight into Blake's eyes, "Shall we?" His cinnamon-scented breath ghosts over Blake's face.

"Let's go back to my room," Blake purrs, sliding out of the booth and taking his hand in hers. He follows obediently behind her, long fingers wrapped tightly around hers as they traverse the dance floor with only slight difficulty. Blake catches a couple stares, but nothing compared to the attention that the man behind her gets. It seems as if every woman in the place has her eye on him.

"Hey, going somewhere?" a girl asks, grasping the man's upper arm.

Blake smiles condescendingly and tightens her grip on the man, "I'm sorry, but there's been a change of plans. I'd appreciate it if you let go, we have somewhere to be."

The girl blinks and lets go, bewildered as Blake whisks the man away.

"Very nice," the man leans forward and whispers in Blake's ear.

Blake grins, "Thanks," she replies as she pushes the doors to the club open, causing a gust of fresh cold air to swirl around her. The cool air on her warm skin feels nice. "Come on," she says, leading him down an alley, "my hotel room is just a couple blocks away."

In a snap, the man has Blake pushed solidly against the frigid brick wall, the ridges of the bricks pressing uncomfortably into her bare shoulders. "I just love a woman who can take charge," he whispers, his lips grazing her neck, nearly causing her to shiver.

This time, it's Blake's turn to don the predatory grin. "Then I'm your kind of woman," she whispers back, her fingers reaching up to slide along the arm he's using to pin her to the wall. She encases his wrist in an iron grip before jerking it away from herself and swinging her body around so that she's behind him, effectively pinning his wrist behind his back. She firmly plants her other forearm across his shoulders and neck, shoving him into the brick wall.

"How's this for taking charge?" Blake taunts.

The man begins to struggle, but Blake has too much leverage on him. "Let go!" He yelps.

"_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…_" Blake says, beginning the exorcism chant. The captured man's struggles intensify, but Blake keeps him in place, not even halting in the chant.

"No, stop! Let me go!" He shrieks, squirming pathetically.

"…_te rogamus, audi nos._" Blake finishes the chant, stepping back to observe her work.

The incubus's skin burns blindingly white for an intense couple of seconds, before it shatters like glass and crashes to the floor. In the wake of the exorcism is a shaking man, who's majorly disheveled and dirty. His head snaps back and a thick black steam of smoke shoots from his mouth and off into the sky. Without the support of the incubus possessing him, he falls to his knees. He looks scared and lost, and barely out of his teens.

Blake kneels in front of him, "Are you okay?" She asks softly, drawing his wide eyes to her.

"Y-You saved me," he stammers.

"The thing possessing you was an incubus. You're safe now," Blake says, trying to reassure him.

"Th-That thing would… would… then it would… and then the girls would…" the frazzled man's trying his hardest to explain what has been happening, but he's clearly a little too shaken up.

"Hey, hey, whoa, it's okay, the girls are safe now. I promise," Blake reassures, giving him a hand and hauling him to his feet.

The man takes her hand, "N-No, I saw… I saw him… he…" he's trying to explain something to Blake but he can't get it out.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me, I already know," Blake says quietly, carefully leading him out of the alley in the opposite direction of the club.

"But-" the man gives one last attempt at explaining, but Blake won't let him.

"Let's just focus on getting you home, okay?" Blake asks.

The man is reluctant, still shell-shocked by the entire ordeal. "O-Okay."

"What's your name?" Blake asks, trying to calm the man down.

"J-Josh… Josh Pixler," Josh stutters, basically clinging to Blake. It's a little odd to Blake, she thought he wouldn't want to be so close to her seeing as he's basically been raped by so many different women.

"It's nice to meet you Josh. My name's Blake and we're about to meet up with some of my friends, is that okay? They're pretty big guys, but they just want to help. I know you've been through a lot, but it's over now," Blake reassures as they enter the parking lot of the motel.

"A-Alright, Blake," Josh agrees as Blake leads him across the parking lot.

Blake stops in front of a room with a faded twelve painted on it and knocks three times. Even though the exorcism went off without a hitch, it still didn't go as planned. She was supposed to have brought the incubus back to the motel room, where there was a devil trap waiting. But instead, the incubus pinned her to the wall in the alley, forcing her to do the exorcism on a dime. They had worked out a rough code beforehand. If she knocked, that meant that she didn't have the incubus. If she unlocked it and let herself in, that meant that the incubus was with her.

Sam opens the door slowly, his eyes falling on Josh and Blake simultaneously, causing a crinkle of confusion to appear on his brow.

"This is Josh," Blake says quietly. "He was possessed by the incubus."

"So… you exorcised it?" Sam asks haltingly.

Blake nods, "Yeah, I did."

Sam shakes his head and opens the door wider, "Dean's not going to be happy, you know…"

Blake huffs, "Yeah, I know."

"Dean's not going to be happy about what?" Dean calls from within the room.

Sam just gives Blake a look and shrugs, holding his hands up innocently and backing away from her, washing his hands of the chore of telling Dean. "It's up to you," he mouths, shaking his head.

Blake glares at him scrunching her nose and imitating his 'innocent look.' "You can't just leave me like this!" She spits quietly, failing at persuading him to tell Dean.

"Sorry," Sam whispers, grinning.

"Dean's not going to be happy about WHAT?" Dean asks loudly again, standing up from his position on one of the beds. The beds were located on the wrong side of the door, so instead of seeing out, like he would've if the beds were on the other side, he only sees Sam's back and the inside of the door. All of the talking has gotten him interested.

Blake sighs, she might as well get it over with. "I had no choice but to exorcise the incubus on my own."

"You what?!" Dean snaps, stomping over to the door, "Do you have ANY idea how dangerous—Who is this dude?"

Blake rolls her eyes, "Dean, this is Josh, Josh, this is Dean. Josh was the one the incubus was possessing."

Dean's eyes narrow at Josh, "Nice to meet you, Josh," he grunts.

"Y-Yeah, you too," Josh stutters, clearly intimidated by Dean. This is the moment Wess decides to pad along next to Dean, drawing Josh's attention. "Is he, uh, friendly?" He asks, gesturing to Wess.

"No," Dean immediately snaps. "He's like Cujo on bath salts."

Josh recoils slightly, surprised at Dean's abrupt answer. "O-Oh," he mumbles, stepping a little closer to Blake.

Dean scowls, dissatisfied with the way Josh looks ready to bury his face in Blake's shoulder, "You," he states, pointing at Blake. "You and I need to have a talk."

Blake rolls her eyes, "It can wait, we need to get him back to his own home. He's been through enough already."

"I'll take him!" Sam hastily volunteers, his hand shooting into the air as if he were in a classroom and Dean was his teacher.

"Not in my car you aren't," Dean grumbles, quickly shooting down Sam's suggestion.

"Here, why don't you come in and sit down?" Blake says while pointedly ignoring Dean. She takes Josh gently by the arm and leads him to the small table. Once he takes a seat, she makes her way over to the ice chest, "What do you want, Josh? We have water, coke, and beer."

"U-Um, beer's fine," he mutters.

Blake grabs a beer and pads back over to Josh, setting it on the table next to him. "Dean was kidding about the Cujo on bath salts thing, Wess is actually a cuddler. He's seventy pounds and thinks he's a lap dog. Watch," she commands, kneeling and calling Wess over to her. He bounds right up to Blake and drags his long, rough pink tongue across her face before she can stop him. She sighs and stands up, wiping the slobber off her face.

"See? Totally friendly," Blake mumbles. She picks up a well-worn chew toy off the ground and places it on the table. "Toss that for him a few times and he'll love you," she says, walking back to the ice chest to grab a beer for herself. "Do either of y'all want anything?" She asks, resenting the fact that she feels compelled to include Dean in her question even though he's going to chew her out later for not following the plan.

"Water, please," Sam says, taking a seat on his bed.

"Get me a beer, will ya?" Dean asks rather rudely.

Blake grabs a bottle of water and hands it to Sam, who is sitting close enough so that she doesn't have to throw it. But Dean, on the other hand, is sitting on the other bed. She snorts quietly and moves the icy water around, looking for a special beer. She finds it sitting innocently on the bottom of the cooler. Repressing a smirk, her cold fingers wrap around it, "Here, Dean," she says, tossing it at his face with just a tiny bit more force than necessary.

"Thanks," Dean grumbles, giving her the stink-eye for throwing it at his face.

"No problem," Blake grins, watching intently for him to open it.

"What?" Dean asks, setting the beer on the night table.

Blake holds back a sigh of disappointment and wipes her freezing fingers on her jeans, shrugging. "I dunno," she says, taking a seat across the table from Josh. "Anyway, where do you live Josh?" she asks, watching Josh toy with his open beer.

"Vanderbilt, it's… it's about an hour down the road," Josh answers, playing with the tab of his beer.

"That's good, we're really close then. Do you remember how long you were possessed?" Blake asks gently.

"Um, just about a month now…" Josh mumbles, creasing his eyebrows as he timidly reaches down to scratch Wess's ears. Wess eagerly leans into Josh's hand, his tail thumping the ground.

"Okay, that's not too long, we can work with that," Blake comments. "Now we need to work on your story, because you can't tell people that you were possessed no matter how much you want to."

"W-Wait, so I can't tell people what actually happened?" Josh asks uneasily, his hand falling away from Wess's ears.

"No, no, you've got it all wrong, the point of the game is to tell as many people as possible and see which person sends you to the nut house first!" Dean grumpily interrupts.

Blake swipes a pen off of the table and chunks it at Dean, hitting him in the forehead, "What's your problem?! I know you're upset with me, but jeez! At least be snarky to just me instead of everyone!"

Dean vengefully rubs his forehead, giving Blake the dirty look of the century, but he wisely chooses to stay quiet even as Sam snickers at his misfortune.

Blake huffs and turns her attention back to Josh, "Though he didn't choose the best way to say it, Dean was right. If you tell people, they'll automatically assume something's wrong with you and send you to a doctor."

"Oh…" Josh mutters as Wess pokes his hand with his nose, encouraging Josh to continue petting him.

"I think he likes you," Blake remarks, smiling. "Animals have a way of sensing exactly what a person needs."

Josh lowers his eyes to look at Wess, who had placed his chin on Josh's knee. "So… I really can't tell anyone?"

Blake shifts in her seat, re-crossing her legs. "Well… there's nothing stopping you from telling people. If you want to tell someone, we can't stop you. But… it would be better for you if you didn't."

Josh reluctantly nods, his focus completely on the dog resting its head on his knee. He worries his lip with his front teeth, scratching Wess's ears before looking up at Blake again. "I want to go home, now," he whispers.

Blake gives him a small reassuring smile, "Okay, Dean will take you home… Wess can go with you too."

"Okay," Josh agrees, taking another gulp of his beer and scooting his chair out.

Dean grumbles under his breath and snatches his keys off the nightstand. "Let's go," he mutters sourly.

Blake walks over to Sam and leans close to him, "Will you go with them to make sure Dean isn't too harsh? I know he's angry with me, but I don't want him takin' it out on Josh," she asks in a whisper.

"Yeah, sure," Sam agrees easily, "but why aren't you going?"

"I need to scrub all the makeup off," Blake explains, touching the junction of her neck and shoulder where they had covered the rugaru scar with copious amounts of makeup. "It's driving me crazy!"

"Okay, I guess we'll be back in a couple hours then," Sam says, standing up from his seat on the bed.

"Thanks!" Blake beams, squeezing Sam in a quick hug.

"Uh, no problem," Sam says, hesitantly patting Blake on the back.

Blake pulls away from Sam and makes her way over to Josh, "Hey, I'm not going with you, but Wess and Sam are, is that okay?"

"Y-Yeah, that's fine," Josh says, scuffing his foot on the ground.

"Okay, it was nice meeting you, Josh, I just wish it was under different circumstances. Take care of yourself, alright?" Blake says, patting him on the shoulder.

"Thanks so much for saving me…" Josh mutters, giving Blake an uneasy smile.

"It's what I do," Blake answers. "Here, let me walk you to the car," she says, before turning to look at Wess, "Let's go, Wess!" Wess gets up from his position on the floor and bounds over to the two of them.

Dean flings the door open and all but stomps out, going to wait by the Impala.

"Dean… uh, doesn't like me very much… does he?" Josh asks uneasily.

"Oh, don't be offended by Dean, he's just pissy because I exorcized that incubus by myself," Blake says, patting Josh comfortingly on the shoulder.

Josh nods, "I guess… I would be pretty scared if my girlfriend did something as dangerous as exorcizing an incubus on her own… Sometimes fear manifests as anger," he says quietly, averting his eyes and quickly shuffling to the car, Wess following obediently behind.

Blake is too taken aback to correct his mistake in calling her Dean's girlfriend. Mouth slightly open in shock, she turns to Sam, almost as if to confirm Josh actually just said what she thought he said. Sam shrugs and tries to repress a smile as he pats Blake on the shoulder and strides out after Josh, closing the door behind him.

Blake stares at the door for a couple seconds, her brain working as if someone had poured molasses on the gears. Still somewhat stunned, she takes a seat on the bed. Outside, she can hear the sound of the Impala firing up and driving away. Mindlessly, she reaches for the unopened beer Dean had left on the night stand. She rolls the still cold can in her hand for a moment before opening it, releasing an explosive spray of foam and freezing beer that splatters on her face and chest. She yelps a curse, jogging to the bathroom as the foamy liquid continues to roll over the lip of the can, running down her fingers and arms.

Blake dumps the beer can in the bathroom sink and glares at her reflection, her reflection glaring back in all her beer soaked glory. "Well that back-fired," she grumbles. She doesn't bother to try and wipe the beer off, instead she just slings off her wet shirt and begins to prepare for a shower.

After her shower she gets dressed and reclines on one of the beds, idly flipping through the channels until she lands on a close up of a handsome man's face. "Oooh, Doctor Sexy," she grins, content to stop on this channel and watch the attractive doctor go to work. This episode was about a man who choked on some beef jerky.

Blake watches, completely enraptured, as Doctor Sexy begins to operate on the man with beef jerky lodged in his throat. The episode ends with beef jerky guy dying on the table and Doctor Sexy shacking up with one of his nurses. Blake rolls over onto her back and stretches, her back popping and causing her to sigh in relief. "Mmm, that's good," she mumbles, scratching her exposed stomach. She lies on the bed, stretched out like a content cat for a couple minutes before she's hit with an intense craving.

"I want some beef jerky…" she says to herself, tossing her legs over the side of the bed. She tosses her hair into a messy pony and jams her boots on her feet, not bothering to lace them. She grabs a couple bucks off the table, not sure whether they're actually hers or if they belong to one of the brothers. She doesn't really care though. After that, she tromps through the door, clad in pajama bottoms and a tank top.

Blake makes the short trek down to the vending machines sitting in front of the motel lobby, her untied shoelaces making faint clicking noises on the concrete. She browses through the items stocked in them for a short few moments before her eyes land on what she came here for—perched in the spot D4 on the vending machine is a red and white package with a clear front so that she can see through it to the meaty contents inside. It's beef jerky. Victorious smile firmly in place, she straightens out the bills clasped in her fingers to insert them into the slot and buy her treat.

Just as Blake reaches out to put the money in the machine, something cracks solidly against the side of her face and temple. "Ah, fuck!" she gasps, stumbling from the blow. She steps on her unlaced shoelaces and falls, her previously broken arm catching the brunt of her fall. She yelps and draws her arm up to her chest, curling on her side instinctively. It must have only been a few seconds later when a hard boot slams into her shoulder, forcefully rolling her on her back.

"Who the fuck are you?!" Blake spits, her eyes landing on a blonde haired woman, a wooden baseball bat clutched in her manicured fingers. She raises the bat again and Blake's eyes narrow dangerously, "You don't want to play with me, lady," she threatens, climbing to her feet while keeping a wary eye on the woman. She can feel blood trickling from where the woman hit her with the bat, dribbling down her face and neck.

The frail blonde woman swings the bat again, anticipating this Blake's hand shoots up to catch it against the flat of her palm, trying to wrap her fingers around it. The bat's too thick, so Blake can't the proper purchase to rip it out of the woman's hands as the woman jerks it backwards and out of Blake's fingers.

Blake tenses, waiting for the woman to swing again, but instead she shoves it straight forward as if it were a pool cue. The flat end of the bat smashes into Blake's mouth, causing her to gasp and stumble backwards, hands flying up to clutch her bleeding mouth. She steps on her shoelaces once again and goes down hard, her head cracking against the asphalt.

Before Blake can even dream about recovering, the woman falls upon her. Blake struggles, trying to throw the woman off even though her vision hasn't cleared from her fall. Blake gets one good punch in before the woman's knees pin her arms to the ground. The bat drops from the woman's grasp and Blake hears her rummaging around in her pockets. Blake can hear a bottle being opened, causing a renewed panic to shoot through her veins. Bucking wildly, Blake jerks her knee up, hitting the blonde in the back and causing her to lurch forward, spilling the contents of the bottle all over Blake's chest and neck. Blake gasps in surprise, the cold liquid stinging her skin.

With a growl, the blonde pulls a rag out of her pocket and mops up as much of the clear liquid as possible before pressing it firmly to Blake's bloody mouth. Blake's eyes go wide as sudden understanding washes over her. This woman was trying to chloroform her. Just as Blake resolves not to breathe, the blonde lifts up off Blake's abdomen, relieving it of pressure briefly before she drops back down, forcing Blake to gasp and deeply breathe in the vapors.

'_This isn't going to be fun,_' Blake grumbles mentally as her eyes slide shut from result of the chloroform.

* * *

><p>Dean slams the door to the Impala, stalking up to the motel room door and swiftly unlocking it. He and Sam just dropped that Josh kid off and the whole time all he could think about was what could have gone wrong when Blake exorcized the incubus on her own. It could've overpowered her and taken her hostage. There could have more than one incubus on the scene. It could've had a concealed weapon on it. Someone could have seen her exorcizing it and called the cops. So many things could have gone wrong.<p>

There's one last option in the back of his mind that makes his stomach clench and his palms itch to think about. The incubus could have forcefully taken what it wanted from her. She could've died.

"Blake!" Dean shouts as he throws the door to the room open. He doesn't get an answer, but that doesn't surprise him. He steps inside, his eyes combing over the seemingly empty room. He waits for her head to pop up from under the mass of covers on her bed or the bathroom door to swing open.

But it doesn't happen.

"Blake!" Dean shouts again, ripping the blankets off both of the beds. She's not there. He flings the bathroom door open, the warm damp air collecting on his face.

No sign of her.

"Where's Blake?" Sam asks, just now coming in the door with Wess in tow.

"Not here," Dean snaps, pacing angrily across the room. "She must've known that I was going to yell at her when I came back."

"You did make it kind of obvious," Sam unhelpfully points out.

Dean tosses him a dirty look, "She doesn't have a car. She couldn't have gotten far," he says, pulling his keys out of his jacket.

"Are you really going to hunt her down at," Sam pauses to pull his phone out of his pocket and check the time, "2:30 at night?"

"Yes," Dean snaps. "It's 2:30! I want to know where she is and why she isn't back yet!"

Sam shrugs, "Okay, I guess I'll wait here to see if she shows up."

"Good idea," Dean says, staring intensely at Wess. "Now, how did she make him work again? Search… hunt… sic 'em… find…"

"Track, I think," Sam says.

"Okay, uh, TRACK," Dean commands, still staring holes into Wess. Wess looks at him and huffs grumpily, turning anxious circles. "Track!" Dean reiterates, pointing at Wess this time. Wess sits heavily on the floor and issues a half bark half rolling grumble, clearly agitated.

"I think you need to tell him what to track, Dean," Sam helpfully supplies.

Dean snatches one of Blake's shirts off the floor and holds it to Wess's nose. "Track," he demands once again. This time it yields the desired effect as Wess pushes his nose to the ground and starts to sniff around. "Good boy," Dean says quietly, a small amount of tension releasing from his shoulders as Wess leads him out of the open motel door.

As soon as Wess leaves the room he takes an immediate right, following the concrete sidewalk that wraps around the motel. He walks, nose close to the ground until he gets to the vending machines in front of the motel lobby. Laying on the ground are a couple of wrinkled dollar bills that Wess takes a special interest in, nosing and pawing at them until Dean stoops to pick them up. After that Wess circles the area in front of the vending machines several times, whining and crying softly.

Wess finally lies down, whimpering at the dark stain near his feet.

Dean kneels down and rubs his fingers over the stain, a dark flaky substance sticking to them. "Blood," he mutters, accented by another cry from Wess. Dean stands up and puts his hands on his head, his breathing deep and ragged. He tries to contain whatever it is he's feeling; rage, fear, anxiety, anger, panic, he's not sure. But whatever it is hurts badly.

"Damn it!" He screams, whirling around on his heel and smashing his fist into the glass window of the vending machine. The glass shatters beneath his hand, slicing it open before tinkling to the concrete making a noise like a wind chime.

Blake's gone.


	8. Delirium

A/N: HELLO! Have I told you recently that you are all lovely people and I appreciate you? Welllll, I do. Sorry for the wait, guys! I just graduated high school last week, so things were a bit crazy. This chapter will hopefully clear up a lot of things that Blake does for seemingly no reason. It's also a little dark, with some mentions of child neglect. As always, I sincerely hope you enjoy! Happy reading!

* * *

><p>Blake is woken by the scent of smoke. It's heavy and cloying. Her eyelids flutter as they try to slide open, but only one eye will cooperate. The other is painfully sealed shut. For a couple seconds the world is only a smear of colors seen through her one working eye. Her vision slowly sharpens back into a passable level, and she's greeted by a rather unfamiliar sight and the reemergence of pain. Her head hurts, her mouth hurts, her eye hurts, her arm hurts, her neck hurts. She could write a never-ending list of the hurts she has at the moment. But she tries not to dwell on that too much. Pain only means she's still alive. Instead, she shifts her attention to her surroundings. She's in a hotel room. But judging by the plush cream carpet and dark wood furniture, it's an expensive one. What in the world had happened? Who would take her to a hotel room like this? Why anyone would take her to this place is also a good question.<p>

Blake tries to move, but quickly finds her hands, feet, and knees are bound with clear packing tape. Her upper arms are bound to her chest as well, with several loops of the same tape. Damn, someone's pulling all the stops to keep her contained. She wonders why, but that's an exercise in futility because of her line of work. There could be any number of reasons for this kidnapping.

Blake scowls as she belatedly remembers the little blonde baseball bat wielding waif at the vending machines. She must've done this. She remembers being cracked across the head with that stupid bat. Either her eye's swelled shut or sealed with dry blood, she really can't tell right now.

Blake braces herself against the onslaught of pain as she tries to roll over. The door isn't in her sights right now, and that makes a creeping sense of panic settle into her gut. She'd feel better if she could see the door, even if she couldn't defend herself against whoever was coming in. When she finally gets rolled over, the door isn't the only thing that comes into her sight.

It's the blonde waif. She's rigidly sitting in an arm chair, her manicured fingers nearly digging holes into the arm rests. "You killed him," she grits lowly, Blake struggling to hear the words.

Blake swallows with some difficulty and runs her tongue across her front teeth, feeling for damage. Aside from being swollen and tender, everything seems to be intact. Her lips are split something awful, but that would heal in time. At least her teeth aren't chipped or falling out. "I've killed a lot of things," she says at last, her throat scratchy.

"He wasn't a thing!" the waif snarls, "He was the love of my life! And you took him from me!"

"And I'm _really_ sorry," Blake says, her voice rasping slightly as she rolls her working eye. "But if you don't tell me when and where, we won't be able to work this misunderstanding out, got it?"

Blonde waif shoots out of her chair and crosses the distance between her and Blake in a couple strides, her eyes betraying her fury. She grasps Blake's collar and pulls hoists her up to eye level, "Nothing is going to be worked out," she says lowly, her eyes narrowed into one of the most hateful glares Blake has ever seen. That's certainly saying something. "You took something from me, and I'm going to do the same to you."

Blake laughs in her face. "You can't take anything from someone who has nothing," she states boldly.

The blonde waif sneers, "We'll see if you're still saying that once those two men and dog are dead."

The mocking smile drops from Blake's lips, anger flooding her face. "If you touch ANY of them, there will be nothing left of you but teeth when I'm done with you!" Blake hisses, throwing her head forward to smash the unsuspecting blonde in the nose and teeth. She stumbles backwards, hand clutched to her mouth where ruby rivulets have started flowing.

The blonde's entire face contorts in rage as she grabs the metal lamp off the nightstand and lunges forward. The cord snaps, and with a pop, the room is launched into darkness. Blake blindly rolls away from the blonde, not looking forward to being clocked with a lamp. In her haste, she accidentally rolls too far and drops off the side of the bed. She hits the ground with a gasp as her body shoots with pain. The lamp clatters to the ground and the bulb shatters.

A couple seconds later, a different light flickers on, and Blake watches helplessly as the blonde slowly makes her way over. When she reaches Blake, she grabs her by the ankles and begins to drag her across the hotel floor. The blonde's face is void of any of her previous emotions. Like a dry-erase board, every twitch of facial expression is wiped clean.

Blake is so puzzled by the blonde's complete shut-down, that it takes her a couple moments to realize where she's being dragged. The carpet beneath her abruptly gives way to tile flooring, and panic explodes through Blake's chest like fire in a drought. "NO!" she screams, thrashing as violently as her binding will allow her. Disappointingly, she can't put up as much of a struggle as she wants and the blonde is still able to drag Blake into the bathroom without much of a problem.

The door shuts with a solid snap behind the blonde woman, leaving Blake alone in the pitch black bathroom. Blake's entire body is convulsing with fear as the bitter taste of bile floods her mouth. "NO!" she screeches, pulling her knees up to her chest before kicking straight at the door with them. The door doesn't budge in the slightest. It's solid. "No, no, no…" she chants, as she struggles to bring her taped wrists up to her mouth to gnaw them free.

It takes a while for her to get her hands up to her mouth, thanks to the tape around her chest and arms. The tape stings as it's ripped off. But Blake doesn't care, ripping the rest of the tape off in much the same manner. When she's finally free, she crawls over to the crack of light coming in from under the door, her hands desperately groping along the smooth surface for the doorknob.

She doesn't find one. Instead, she finds the base of a doorknob. The actual knob has been removed. Screaming, she beats desperately at the door, rattling it loudly. It doesn't show any signs of opening. Surrendering, she slides to the ground, feebly wrapping her arms around her knees. She's locked in. There's no way out. Tears fill her eyes and run down her cheeks, but she doesn't even have the will to wipe them away.

* * *

><p>"Calm down, Dean," Sam says, watching his older brother pace relentlessly across their small motel room. "I'm sure she's fine. You know she can take care of herself."<p>

Dean gives a bitingly sardonic laugh, "'She can take care of herself?'" he repeats Sam, an edge of hysteria forcing its way into his voice. "Yeah, like I'm supposed to believe that!" he barks, raking a hand through his hair. "You know EXACTLY what kind of trouble she gets into EVERY time she's alone!"

Sam arches an eyebrow at Dean's tone, clearly not quite as worried as the older Winchester. "Jeez, Dean, if I had known better, I'd assume you were in love with her or something," he grumbles, turning back to his laptop, a little irritated with his brother's attitude.

Dean doesn't hear him or he pretends not to.

Wess watches the entirety of the commotion from his place on the floor, his chin perched despondently on top of his crossed paws. Blake has been gone for nearly a day now, and in that time, Wess hasn't shown even an inkling of interest in the food they tried to give him. They even went so far as to offer the canine the bacon off of Dean's burger earlier. With an unimpressed flick of his tail, Wess turned his head and completely snubbed the bacon. Sam tried to comfort him, but Wess snubbed him in much the same way he had snubbed the bacon. After that, they allowed him to be left alone.

Sam can hear Dean grit his teeth from all the way across the room, "I've leaving," he grunts, sweeping his jacket and keys off of the table as he stalks towards to door. Wess rises from his place on the floor and follows him.

* * *

><p>Still locked in the luxurious hotel bathroom, Blake's entire body radiates with fear. Her eyes are wide open, but on account of the lack of light, she sees nothing. Her arms are wrapped tightly around herself in almost a straitjacket-like fashion, her blunt finger nails are dug into her sides so deeply that they're on the brink of drawing blood. She turned the light on earlier, but all that did was make the room seem even smaller. After a couple seconds of watching the walls contort and contract, squeezing in around her, she shut the lights off and wedged herself in between the toilet and bath tub. She has no idea how long she's been in there.<p>

"_We'll be back soon, okay, Blake?" Blake's mother, a thin woman with mousy brown hair pulled back into a perfect bun, says as she sets a list of numbers on the table. "If we take more than a day, call one of these numbers and someone will come get you."_

_Blake nods dutifully, her eyes filling with tears. "Okay, mommy… but why can't you or daddy stay with me? I don't want to say here alone," she whispers, staring up at her mother hopefully._

_Blake's father, who had been packing a duffel bag with equipment, turns his narrowed eyes on the small girl, "Blake," he barks, causing her to flinch, "I thought I told you to be a big girl and stop whining."_

_Blake drops her eyes, staring at her Minnie Mouse shoes instead. They used to light up when she walked, but they didn't anymore. "Yes daddy," she mumbles._

_Her mother sighs and smoothes a reluctant hand over Blake's hair. "It's not going to take that long, dear, we'll be back before you know it."_

"_Stop coddling her, Abigail, she'll grow up without a backbone," her father grumbles, heaving the duffel bag over his shoulder._

_Her mother cuts her eyes at her father, narrowing them into a stern glare, "Roy!" she hisses, taking a threatening step towards him, but before she can get any closer he stomps heavily down the stairs of the RV, going to put their bag in the car. Sighing, her mother turns back to Blake. She taps the list once with a perfectly manicured nail. "Remember the numbers, Blake. We'll be back soon."_

"NO!" Blake shrieks, clutching at her head. "Stop it!" In her desperation, she throws her head back into the tiled wall, causing a burst of colors to bloom in the otherwise dark room. "I don't want to remember that," she sobs, remembering the pain and fear of abandonment. Why hadn't her mother stuck up for her? Why didn't her father care that they were abandoning her? "Stop, stop, stop!" Blake commands, punctuating each word by slamming her head into the wall. Each time she does, fireworks erupt in the pitch black room. Tears fill her eyes and flood down her cheeks, causing her to scream and claw at her eyes.

But nothing she does stops the progression of the memory.

_Blake's tiny six year-old body is plagued by sobs. She's curled up into her parents' blanket, trying to comfort herself. The list her mother left is crumbled up in one of her hands, the other holds the wireless phone. Several times already she's fully dialed one of the numbers, only to remember her mother's words. She was only supposed to call if they were gone for a day. They had only been gone for an hour at this point. Her mother and father would be upset if she called before she was supposed to._

_Snot dribbles freely from her nose, she sobs and wipes it on her mother's favorite quilted comforter. Her head hurts. She sobs again and starts coughing, gagging with the force of the cough. She stumbles out of the cocoon of blankets, tripping hard and barely managing to catch herself from bouncing her face off the floor. Covering her mouth she pushes herself to her feet, she gags again, and claws at the door to the bathroom with a new urgency. Finally managing to rip it open, she dry-heaves over the toilet, streams of saliva falling from her mouth and dribbling onto the seat of the toilet. Breathing deeply, she rubs her arms and tries to calm herself down. She had nearly caused herself to vomit from crying so hard._

_Breathing raggedly, she hiccups and wipes her face on the towel hanging next to the sink. Finally feeling calm enough, she puts the towel down and turns to open the door to the bathroom. It had swung closed on its own thanks to the spring pulling it closed at the top of the door. Her resolve crumbled, she was going to get the phone and call one of those numbers. She didn't care anymore if her mother got mad._

_She just didn't want to be alone anymore._

_Her trembling fingers clasp the handle to the door, but it won't budge. She yanks on the handle, pulling with all of her might, but it doesn't give in the slightest. Screaming she begins to bang on the door, tears bursting from her eyes. "Let me out!" she screeches, beating on the door with her fists. Why won't it open?_

_She gives up on the door and climbs onto the toilet, her fingers grasping the thin metal of the windowsill. She pulls herself up to the window, her arms trembling under her weight as she struggles to support herself on the slick toilet seat, which has splotches of saliva on it from earlier. She reaches for the latch to the tiny window, wondering if she can fit through it. Before she can try, her worn tennis shoe slips off of the toilet seat. Her body jerks and she hits her chin hard on the windowsill, her tongue getting caught between her teeth. She falls, hitting her head on the wall as she does._

_Blake blinks blearily, staring up at the ceiling and wondering how she got there. Her neck's wet. Her tongue hurts. She rolls over and coughs, blood splattering the ground beneath her. She screams, nearly inhaling a mouthful of blood. Her hands fly up to her mouth, where blood mixes with saliva and dribbles out of her mouth onto the floor. Even after she covers her mouth, blood oozes steadily out of a cut on her chin, where she busted it open on the windowsill. Blake convulses with horror, the sight of so much blood terrifying her. "MO-" she inhales some of the blood, choking on it._

_Coughing, she tries to stand up, but the floor is so slick with blood that she can't. Somehow she's able to grab the towel she wiped her face on earlier. She holds it to her chin and mouth, terrified tears streaking down her bloodied face._

Blake swallows thickly, tears still making tracks down her face. She knows her fear is irrational, but she can't help but give in to the bone-deep terror. She'd rather be dead than stuck in this bathroom. Who was that blonde woman and why did she hate Blake so much? Why is she stuck in this bathroom?

Blake sniffles pathetically and digs her fingernails into her forearms, trying to calm herself down and prevent any further… 'episodes.' Before she left, that blonde woman threatened to kill Dean, Sam and Wess. Blake has faith in them. After all, that woman's just human. They've faced things much tougher than her without a problem.

But so had Blake, and she still got taken down… by a mere human woman. Shame and indignation join the mix of turbulent emotions, Blake's head thumps against the wall. Her eyes clench shut, worry burns a hole in her stomach.

Dean, Sam and Wess are she has left. She doesn't know what she'll do without them.

* * *

><p>Dean trudges back to the Impala, grumbling under his breath. He didn't know what to do anymore. He had retraced Blake's steps at the bar and questioned all of the patrons about what they had seen, but not a single one had anything important to say. He had almost punched the snot out of one of the bartenders.<p>

"_Oh, her!" the smug little douche exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "Yeah, I saw her. What of it?"_

"_Have you seen her since then? She's missing," Dean growled, his fingers clenching into a fist._

"_It's only been a day, dude. You should chill," the douche sniffed, "besides, she left with some asshole. She's clearly not interested in you."_

_Dean scowled, his nose wrinkling in disgust. "You don't know anything," he snapped, refraining from curling his fingers around the man's neck. He wasn't exactly sure what had gotten him upset, that little asshole telling him to calm down, or telling him about how Blake left with someone that wasn't him._

_The bartender shrugged, a nasty smirk appearing on his face at Dean's obvious distress. "That asshole she left with had girls all over him ALL night. He coulda left with anyone of them, but she beat them all off. Clearly, she knows what she wants in a man. And it ain't you. They were even stopped on the way to the door by some fine little blonde bitch. But your girl didn't bat an eye, dismissing her like it was nothing."_

_Dean takes a deep breath, reminding himself that the only reason Blake was with that guy was because of the hunt. She didn't want to be there. She SAVED those girls by not letting the incubus leave with one of them. She didn't want to be around the incubus, she had to. It was killing people. She's a hunter, she saves people. There are people everywhere that owe her their lives. This little asshole had no right to assume things about her._

"_Your girl's fine, too, no doubt about it. But that little blonde one was hotter by a mile! I'd still chose the brunette though, she's got that attitude makes me wonder what she'd be like in bed. Kinky, I'd bet," he says, grinning lecherously._

_Dean's hand shoots out, his fingers curling into the material of the bartender's shirt, dragging him partially across the bar, "Listen here, ya little pimply-faced piece of shit, you say one more word about her and you'll need plastic surgery when I'm done with you," he spits, pushing the bartender back after he finishes issuing his threat. _

_Dean didn't have time for this. He needed to find her._

Wess's frantic barking breaks Dean out of his thoughts. His head snaps up towards the sound, finding a small blonde woman approaching the Impala, where Wess was waiting for him. Dean picks up his pace, crossing the small packing lot in a couple strides. "What are you doing?" he demands, his eyes narrowing at her. Wess doesn't usually react that way to anyone. The canine looked like it was going to break the windows to get at the woman.

She turns to face Dean and holds her hands up innocently, "Sorry, I was just wondering if that dog was okay. I didn't know if the windows were cracked or not."

"Well, he's fine. So you can leave," Dean says harshly, watching her for any suspicious movements. There's something not right about this woman. Maybe he shouldn't let her go. At his intensified glare, she holds her hands up higher, as if to prove she's innocent, but instead, Dean catches a flash of metal under her jacket. Before she can blink, Dean has his gun out and aimed at her. "What's a little girl like you doing packing heat?" he asks, taking a couple steps closer to her.

"I'm not a little girl!" she yells, stomping her foot.

"Only little girls throw tantrums," Dean retorts.

Dean hears her sigh heavily. "Okay, you're right. Just let me put my gun on the ground, and you do the same," she says, slowly reaching to grab her gun. Her fingers wrap around the gun and she slowly pulls it out of the holster. She crouches and makes to put it on the ground, but just before she does, she whips the gun up and fires. The shot goes wide by an inch, narrowly missing Dean's ear. Not allowing her to recover, Dean charges her and tackles her to the ground. His hands wrap around her much smaller ones as her wrests the gun out of her hand. It's one of the expensive kinds with a built-in suppressor. The gun shot hadn't been that loud, even a dozen feet away.

Breathing hard, he presses the muzzle of the gun against the back of her head while his knees pin her arms to the ground. "What the hell was that?!" he asks, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. He's used to being in danger, yes, but not usually from guns. It's usually from claws and teeth and things of that sort.

"A bullet," she snaps, struggling to escape him, "I'd assumed you were well-acquainted with them!"

"Don't get smart with me, lady," Dean grunts. "I meant, why the hell'd you shoot at me?"

"I don't know, Dean, why don't you think about that for a while!" she says, thrashing.

Dean pauses, his paranoia spiking. "Why do you know my name?" he asks, his voice dropping dangerously. He's never seen her before, at least he doesn't think he has, and her appearance so close to Blake's disappearance is extremely suspicious. Why'd she try to shoot him? Why was she so interested in Wess earlier? "Blake," he breathes, "where is she? Do you know where she is?"

The woman under him is completely silent. Dean stands up slowly, keeping his gun aimed on the blonde. He rolls her onto her back and hoists her up by the front of her shirt as if she was as light as a kitten. "Where is she?" Dean asks threateningly. He doesn't believe in harming women, but the smug look that crosses her face nearly makes him question that belief.

"Why should I know?" she asks, her lips curling into a smile. "I'm just a little girl, remember?"

"Make one move and I swear to everything holy that I'll shoot a hole in you," Dean says, slowly lowering her back to the ground. Her feet touch the ground, and while her smile doesn't waver, she stays stock still as Dean pats her down, checking for any more weapons. She's clean, so he drags her over to the Impala and opens the trunk with one hand, the other clasped around her wrists. He grabs a length of rope and expertly ties it around her wrists, giving it a couple harsh yanks to make she wouldn't be wiggling out of it.

"Hey!" she protests, "you can't do this! This is kidnapping!"

"Oh, be quiet. You have something to do with Blake's disappearance, and I'm pretty damn sure that was kidnapping too," Dean replies.

Shutting the trunk, he walks the crazy woman around to the backseat of the Impala, where Wess is waiting. "Wait," she cries, trying to jerk away from Dean, "you're going to put me in there?! With that _mutt_?!"she shrieks.

"He's not a mutt," Dean snaps, opening the door. Wess begins growling, his lips pulling away from his gleaming white fangs in a vicious snarl. "Just get in and quit your bitching. I don't want to hear it," Dean says, pushing her head down so she doesn't hit it on the frame of the Impala. If Wess bites her, then it serves her right.

* * *

><p><em>Six year old Blake sits huddled in the corner of the RV bathroom. Her tiny white shirt, which used to have the image of a kitten wearing bunny ears on it, is now completely ruined with bloodstains. The blood has since oxidized and turned a disgusting rusty-brown. It's been two days since her parents left, and nearly two days since she's been stuck in the bathroom. The only thing keeping her alive at this moment is the water from the sink. She isn't sure why, but she still can't get the door open. She accidentally broke the handle off the day before while trying to force it open. She dreads what her parents will say once they find out she broke the bathroom door. Just thinking about it made her break into sobs of panic.<em>

"_Blake? Honey, are you in here?"_

_Blake bolts to her feet, "Mom? MOMMY?" she screams, her voice cracking painfully._

"_Blake?! Where are you?!" _

"_Mom," Blake sobs, beating weakly on the bathroom door. The door's ripped open, but it's not her mother like she expected. It's her Aunt Amber. All the same, Blake collapses into her, bawling her eyes out. _

"_Oh my god! Blake, what happened? There's blood everywhere! Are you okay?!" Aunt Amber yells, trying to get Blake to loosen her hold so she can look at her._

"_I broke the bathroom door!" Blake wails, crying too hard say anything else._

After that, Aunt Amber took Blake to the doctor where she got her first stitches, four of them in a neat little line at the bottom of her chin. Blake didn't see her parents for a long time after that; Aunt Amber refused to let her go back until they apologized for leaving her alone.

They never did.

Blake eventually went back to them when she turned 10. Aunt Amber had died in a car wreck.

* * *

><p>"Dean, you… you kidnapped a girl?!" Sam yells, raking his hands through his hair. "I can't believe you! Of all the stupid things to do and you KIDNAP SOMEONE?!"<p>

"Please," the blonde woman cries, tears dripping down her face, "just let me go! I promise I don't know anything about that girl! I've never seen her before! I just want to go home!"

Dean glares at her, "You're laying it on a little thick there, blondie. I don't believe you for a second," he hisses, pointing at her threateningly.

"Dean!" Sam snaps, pulling Dean away from her. "That's enough! Why don't you just let her go, she obviously has no idea what's going on!"

"She almost SHOT me!" Dean accuses, gesturing to her wildly. Upon Sam's confused look, he realizes in the midst of their fighting, he never got a chance to tell Sam what happened. He breathes in deeply and tries to collect his thoughts, regaling to Sam the entire episode after he threatened the bartender.

"Okay…" Sam says, slowly absorbing Dean's story, "you think she's the blonde woman who tried to stop Blake from leaving with the incubus, is that right?" Dean nods at this. "And you say that she went up to the Impala to look at Wess and when you stopped her, she tried to shoot you, also correct?" Dean nods again. "And after that you restrained her and tossed her in the back of the Impala?"

"She knew my name, Sam! She was taunting me," Dean exclaims, not happy with Sam's lack of reaction.

Sam turns his gaze on the girl, "Is that true?" he asks.

She sniffles, wiggling pathetically, "I don't know what he's talking about, I just want to go home. I'm sorry about your friend, but I don't have anything to do with that. You have to believe me," she pleads, her eyes wet with tears.

Sam sighs, "Even if she does know where Blake is, there's no way to tell. She's not going to tell us anything and we can't hurt her."

Dean gives a strangled yell of frustration, stomping over to the door and flinging it open. He stops dead two steps out of the room as a thought occurs to him. "Josh," he mumbles, turning to look at Sam. "Josh will know."

"Why do you think that?" Sam asks warily.

"She was going to stop the incubus and Blake from leaving. There's a chance she knew the incubus before that… and if anyone would know, it's Josh," Dean says, coming back inside only to grab his keys. "We don't have his number, do we?" he asks. He already knows the answer, but it's good to check.

"No, we didn't get his number," Sam says, but Dean's already halfway to the Impala, ready to embark on a two hour drive just to ask a question.

* * *

><p>Sam's phone rings nearly three hours after Dean had left. "Hello?"<p>

"Sam," Dean's voice greets him. Sam can tell immediately that Dean didn't find what he was looking for. "He's not here."

Sam sighs slowly, "The girl you kidnapped hasn't said anything else, either."

"I don't know what to do, Sam. Blake could be dead. She could be dying right now and there's nothing I can do about it."

Sam frowns, staring at the captive woman once more. She glares at him and turns her head stiffly to the side. "I don't know either, Dean. But I'm sure she's still alive. This is Blake we're talking about. Yeah, she gets into a ton of trouble, but she knows how to stick it out. She'll be okay."

Dean exhales heavily, as if the weight of the world's on his shoulders. "I hope you're right, Sam."

Sam hangs up and runs a hand through his hair. He's worried for Blake too, though he doesn't quite show it in the same way as Dean.

"She's going to starve to death before you two idiots find her," the blonde says primly, looking Sam right in the eye.

"What did you say?" Sam asks quietly, rising to his feet and making his way towards her.

Her eyes widen at Sam's approach and she throws her against the ropes to get away from him. "Nothing!" she yells, falling out of the chair and using her feet to slide herself along to ground. Sam's eyes narrow, catching a flash of yellow-gold plastic from one of her jeans pockets. He kneels in front of her and pulls the card from her pocket, despite her yelling for him to leave it alone.

It's a credit card.

Sam laughs, "Addison Belington, huh?" he says, reading the name on the credit card. "What else do you have in your pockets?" he asks, not expecting to get an answer. He pulls her to her feet and checks her front pockets, keeping a firm grip on her upper arm.

"This is molestation!" Addison screeches indignantly as Sam's hand slides into her back pocket.

"Sorry," Sam says drily, retrieving another card from her back pocket. This one's the key to a hotel.

Addison's face contorts in rage, "NO!" she shrieks, lunging at Sam, even though her hands are tied behind her back. "She has to suffer for what she's done to me! I wanted her to feel the same pain I felt as I watched her kill him!" she wails, dissolving into sobs.

"What are you talking about?!" Sam asks, trying to restrain the crying woman.

"He loved me!" she screams hysterically. "He loved me and I know it!" Her teeth sink into the muscle on Sam's forearm, breaking the skin.

"Augh!" Sam yelps, trying to get her to let go of him. "Stop biting me!" he yells. But she stubbornly holds on, even as Sam's blood begins to pour inside her mouth. Wincing, he slides his hand underneath her jaw and presses the pressure points on each side of her jaw with his pointer finger and thumb. This forces her to let go. "You're crazy!" he exclaims as her teeth click on empty air after trying to bite him again. All while avoiding her teeth, he throws her on the bed and un-tucks the covers, rolling her up in them burrito-style. Breathing heavily, Sam picks up his phone off the nightstand.

"Dean? I think I know where Blake is."

* * *

><p>Blake's head dips tiredly, touching her knees briefly before she jerks awake and pulls her head back up. She's in the same place she's been nearly this whole time; wedged between the toilet and bathtub. That's where she feels the safest. She likes that she can feel the cool porcelain of the bathtub on one side, the curved bowl of the toilet on the other, and the tiled wall—smeared with her blood from her earlier panic attack—at her back. In the dark, she can pretend that the room is bigger than it actually is.<p>

Blake's head jerks up at the sound of the door to the hotel room opening. She can hear people coming in, muttering amongst themselves. Ignoring the clawing sense of dread, she crawls out of her spot and uses the counter to pull herself to her feet. If they're here for her, they have another thing coming. Her fingers slide along the counter, feeling for anything solid. Eventually her fingers stumble upon a dish sitting in the corner. It has what feels like a wrapped bar of soap sitting on it. Dumping the soap out, she grasps the dish tightly and waits.

"She's in the bathroom," the blonde woman from earlier says. Blake hears a low grumble in return. "I don't know why the lights are off! Maybe she's sleeping," the woman yells angrily.

Blake places herself just in front of the door, holding her soap-dish high in the air. When the door opens, the person on the other side is going to get one hell of a surprise. The door handle turns slowly, and the door begins to creak open.

"Blake?" Dean's voice entreats her. The soap-dish slips from her fingers and crashes to the floor, shattering on impact. "BLAKE!" The light snaps on and it blinds Blake for a second. All she can do is stumble forward into Dean, clinging to him for dear life and crying into his chest.

Dean stumbles backwards, shocked at her embrace as well as her appearance. She has claw-marks gouged into her face, her lips are busted and swollen, there's a huge knot on her temple that stretches to black one of her eyes, and her hair is matted with blood. He turns his eyes on Addison, hatred curling his features, "What did you do to her?" he seethes, fury rolling off of him in palpable waves.

Addison, to her credit, looks just as shocked as Dean did when he first saw her. "I didn't do that!" she yelps, backing away as far as she can, which isn't very far thanks to Sam's hold on her.

Dean wraps his arms protectively around Blake, "Don't lie to me!" he snarls, looking like he'd give anything to hurt Addison, but Blake anchors him in place.

Coming down from her hysterical tears, Blake pulls away just far enough to wipe her eyes. "Sh-She didn't," she confirms. But then she remembers having the bat smashed upside her head and then busted in the mouth with it. "W-Well, not everything," she mumbles, her tears stinging the scratches on her face.

Sam steps forward suddenly, "Claustrophobia," he blurts, looking like he just experienced an epiphany, "you suffer from claustrophobia. That's why you force us to keep the windows down while you're in the backseat of them Impala and… and why you never shut the bathroom door."

Blake's eyes dart away from Sam's, shame causing her cheeks to light on fire. Her refusal to look either of them in the eyes is answer enough.

"Why didn't you tell us, Blake..?" Sam asks softly.

Blake masterfully avoids his gaze and takes a step away from Dean. "Because it's… it's stupid and childish," she spits. "I shouldn't be afraid to sh-shut the damn door every time I piss!" More tears jump to her eyes, but she grinds them away with the heels of palms. She gives a shuttering breath, "It's—It's pathetic."

"It's not pathetic," Dean mumbles. "It's something that seriously bothers you, Sam and I would've understood." The way he's looking at her, so sincerely and… tenderly, makes her uncomfortable.

"Ju-Just drop it!" Blake mutters, backing away from him. She isn't sure what to think of this side of Dean, the one where he's still too concerned to start lecturing her. "I'm more worried about what we're going to do with her," she says, pointing at Addison to try and divert the attention away from herself.

Sam shrugs, frowning thoughtfully. "Nothing," he says simply.

"What?" Blake asks quietly, unable to stop the sting of betrayal that comes with his words. "Nothing? We aren't going to do anything to her?"

Sam sighs and shakes his head, "She did a really bad thing to you, Blake. I know, and I'm sorry… but she was being lied to. The incubus had her brainwashed into believing he loved her. He was using her money to lure in more victims. After we told her what he had been doing, she brought us to you."

At his words, Addison stiffened and turned away stubbornly, tears leaking down her face. "I still hate you," she hisses.

Blake sighs, leaning against the wall and sinking into a sitting position. "I don't care," she mutters, her head in her hands, "I just don't care. I want to go home. Where's Wess?"

"Wess is in the car," Sam says.

"Okay, then let's go to the car," Blake says, struggling to her feet. Now that all of her adrenaline's gone, it's harder to get her legs to work. She stumbles and lands heavily on her knees. Dean holds out a hand to help her, but her face burns in indignation and she ignores it, forcing herself to her feet without his help. She wants to ignore the fact that he still has tearstains on his jacket on account of her. She wants to ignore how badly she wants to collapse into his arms again. She wants to ignore the feeling of overwhelming helplessness and embarrassment.

But she can't. The longer she's around him, the less self-sufficient she becomes.

And when he leaves, when he gets tired of hauling her around with him and Sam… she'll have to re-learn how to do everything by herself. And she isn't sure if she can take that.

* * *

><p>AN: So I hope you enjoyed and I apologize once more for the delay! Please leave a review and tell me what you thought about the chapter! It makes me happier than you know. :)


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